I am Erik
by jneill7677
Summary: A/U. The story of Erik's life told from his point of view. Set in the 1930s and later; very loosely based on Leroux's characters.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I am Erik. At least, that is what my mother whispers to me late at night, in the pitch blackness, while my father sleeps.

"Erik," she says, so softly I can barely hear her, "never forget who you really are."

"Who is that?" I whisper back.

"You are my son. You are my beautiful, talented, intelligent boy. You are my Erik."

I inwardly scoff at her words, for I know that they are only the words of a mother who is blind to the many faults of her child. She never says these words in the daytime, when the light would throw her lies back in her face even as she said them. However, I also know that she needs to believe them, for if she ever realized the truth about me, she would surely not be able to live with that truth. I am ugly and stupid, a plague on the world. My father tells me that truth every day, many times a day. My father never calls me by my name, but refers to me instead as "him" or simply "boy."

There are few facts I know about myself. I know that my name is Erik Nicholas Taylor, I am 14 years old, I was born on July 12, 1921 in Willow, Tennessee, and my father hates me. He says it with his words, with his actions, and with the very looks he gives me. He says it with his fists and his belt and his feet. Every day, I try to get him to love me by doing everything he wants. I know, deep down, my father can never love a monster like me, and yet I still try. I am a fool.

My father and mother leave every morning to look for work. Work is scarce in Willow, so they usually don't have much luck. As they left this morning, my mother turned and bestowed one of her rare, beautiful smiles on me. She quickly left and locked the door, however, when my father bellowed for her to hurry up. After they left, I decided that I would clean the house while they were gone. I hoped, stupidly, that this would be the one time my father showed some pride in his son. I knew he wouldn't, but the hope was there nonetheless. Cleaning is a regular chore of mine, but this time, when I was done, the worn, wooden planks of the floor shone, as did the cracked windowpanes. I had arranged our few meager possessions neatly on the shelves, and I had even made up the one bed and brushed the dirt off so that it looked, at least to my eyes, like the bed of a rich person.

When he and my mother walked in the door that night after another unfruitful day, both sets of eyes settled on the middle of the wooden table, where I had placed a single daisy in a jar of water. I saw two distinctly different reactions to this sight. My mother had come in first, and her face lit up instantly in another one of the smiles I so longed to see. She looked around in wonder at the sight of her shabby home transformed.

"Why, Erik…" she began, but the back of my father's hand against her cheek stopped her cold. The slap resounded in my ears as I watched her fly across the room and hit the wall. Her hand cupped her cheek as she collapsed onto the floor, trying to cover the bruise that was already forming there with her hands. As usual, no tears came from her eyes, but her shoulders shook even so.

"You don't talk to him!" my father snarled. He glared at her with disgust for a short moment, and then turned to me.

My father is a giant in every way. His form filled the frame of the doorway from top to bottom and side to side. His hands can fit around any part of my body with ease. His feet, shod in the work boots he always wore, left two large, dusty footprints on the newly scrubbed floor as he covered the distance between the door and me in long strides. I cowered as he leaned over me, his red-rimmed eyes staring down at his hated child; I could smell the whiskey on his breath as he panted with rage.

"Where'd you get the flower, boy?" he sneered.

"I…I…I…"

"What's wrong, can't even talk right? You're so stupid! Well, let's see if I can't help you out." He straightened to his full, giant height, reached over to the table, and grabbed the jar. He turned back to me while he held the jar up to his eye level and studied it as if it were a rare gem and he a jeweler in a shop. "This is a flower, yes?"

"Y-y-es, sir," I stammered.

"Y-y-es," he mimicked with a whine in his voice, "it is. Now, flowers do not grow inside, do they?"

"No, sir." The words came out as a whisper, as I could already see where this was going, and a feeling of dread settled deep in my young stomach.

"No, they do not. They grow outside. So, how did a flower that grows outside get inside?" He took his eyes off the jar and slowly turned them toward me. I flinched as his gaze settled on my ugly face, and one eyebrow arched as he silently waited for an answer.

"I…" I couldn't make my tongue work; the words just wouldn't come, but I knew that he expected an answer, so I swallowed against my dry throat and tried again.

"I went out and got it," I murmured, as my eyes dropped to the floor in shame.

"Ah! That explains everything!" My father's voice sounded almost happy, and I chanced a glance at my mother, who had been sitting silently with her hands wringing in her lap, watching this scene play itself out. Her eyes were shining with the tears she dared not let fall, and they were fixed on my father. I could hear the silent pleading coming from her in waves – "Don't, please don't, don't…" I saw her eyes widen in horror, then, and she covered her face with her hands.

The jar hit the left side of my head with such force that it shattered. I screamed and fell to the floor, instinctively throwing my arms up to cover my head. The pain was so intense that I barely heard my father's screams through the pounding in my skull.

"How dare you go outside! No one wants to see your disgusting body! No one wants to be subjected to your hideous face!"

His ranting continued, but all I could focus on was the fact that my hair was wet. Wet, yes, that made sense. There was water in the jar, so my hair would be wet. I forced my mind to settle on this one thought, even as my father's large boots began driving into my body as I lay on the floor. As I curled myself up into a ball and drifted into unconsciousness, there was one thing I couldn't understand, though. Why was the water red?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I heard the accounts of the rest of that night many, many years later, from the very doctor who came and treated me after my mother ran, hysterical, to his house and practically dragged him back to ours.

My father had continued to kick me for many moments, until my mother finally found her voice and screamed, "Albert, stop, you're killing him!"

Not used to my mother confronting him in any way, my father stopped his foot in mid-swing and turned toward her, shock registering on his face. He lowered his foot to the ground and took one step toward my mother. His right hand balled into a fist, which he raised in order to strike her with it. He was very drunk, however, and as he swung at her, she ducked under his arm and scrambled around him as his momentum drove him into the wall. She quickly covered me with her own body as he regained his balance and whirled around to face us. Confusion was evident in his face as he looked at the sight before his eyes. His mind tried to understand what he was seeing. His wife was on the floor, trying to protect…what? An animal? No, not an animal. What then? The answer seeped into his alcohol-ridden brain, and the confusion slowly turned to horror as he realized what he had done. Not horror for the act itself, but horror as the consequences for his actions became clear to him. If I died, he would be a murderer, and as such, would be sent to prison, or worse, put to death.

He reached one meaty hand out and grabbed my mother by her shoulder. "Anna," he rasped out as he dragged her to her feet, "get the doctor, now!" He threw her toward the door and then turned his attention to me. My mother took one horrified look at him kneeling over me before turning and sprinting out the door.

The doctor's house was about five miles from our secluded house, and by the time my mother got there, she was practically collapsing from exhaustion. She steeled herself, however, and managed to climb the three steps of the porch, cross to the door, and reach up and press the doorbell of the white clapboard house. She could hear the bell ringing throughout the darkened house, and she frantically pressed the button again and again, each time hearing the shrill sound echo into silence. She did not know how many times she pressed the bell before hearing a new sound – footsteps descending the stairs.

She was leaning against the door as she silently urged the bell to retrieve the occupants of the house, so when the doctor opened the door, she collapsed into him. His eyes went wide at the sight of the young woman on his threshold; she was barefoot, and her clothing was soaked through. During her desperate flight to the doctor, she had not even noticed that it was raining.

"Doctor," she gasped out, "you must come now. My son is dying."

The doctor took a long look at the woman, trying to place where he knew her from. She was only about five feet tall, had waist-length blonde hair and delicate features. He inwardly seethed as he noticed the fresh bruise on her left cheekbone. Even in her current state, he could tell that she was a beautiful woman, but he still couldn't recall her name. He pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind, however, as she continued to implore him to come with her, pulling him with her tiny hands toward the road and the storm.

"Wait," he said, taking her hands in his, "I must get my bag and then, if you'd like, we can drive in my car since it's raining."

"Car?" she questioned, confusion spreading across her lovely face.

"Of course, car," the doctor replied, equally confused. "How else did you get here if you didn't drive? Do you live close enough to walk?"

She hadn't really thought about how they'd get back to her home. She had never ridden in a car before, so she had assumed they would get back the same way she had gotten to the doctor's – by running. She shook her head, but didn't say anything.

The doctor looked at her for a moment, taking in her drenched state, and decided that she had indeed walked. He said decisively, "Well, it doesn't matter. It's raining now, and we'll drive my car. Wait here; I'll be right back," and he returned to his house to gather the necessary equipment.

Anna stood on the porch, trembling with the cold that was beginning to seep into her body and with the fear that had permeated her being since the moment she saw her husband approach Erik with the jar. As she waited for the doctor, her mind went back to the day, fourteen years before, when her darling boy was born.

* * *

She had known she was pregnant, of course, and she was thrilled with the idea of being a mother. Albert had never said much about the pregnancy, but he was never a man to reveal his feelings, unless that feeling was anger. Anna had assumed that he would be happy to be a father, but she had been horribly wrong, and throughout the pregnancy, he either completely ignored her or flew into rages over what she had allowed to happen.

The day she went into labor, Albert was at work. Her pains started late in the morning, and Anna knew that he would not be home for hours. She was not allowed off the property when not with him, so she had no thought of going for the doctor. She was too afraid of what Albert would say if he knew she had gone somewhere without him. She had been present when her little sisters and brothers had been born, so she knew what to expect when the baby was ready to be born. What she wasn't prepared for, however, was how fast her labor progressed. She was anticipating suffering through the contractions throughout the day until Albert came home, at which time, he would take her to the doctor. However, within three hours of her first contraction, she was having pains every minute or so, and she knew that meant the baby was coming soon. She was terrified, but also smart enough to know that if the baby was going to be born, there was nothing she could do to stop it. She quickly gathered up some clean rags, two strong pieces of twine, a pair of scissors, and a large pot full of water. These things she placed on the floor, and then she sat down next to them. After a few more contractions, she felt an enormous pressure and an undeniable need to push. She concentrated all her strength into bearing down with the next contractions, and inside of another ten minutes, she felt the baby's head emerge from her body. She reached down between her legs, feeling for the first time the soft skin of her wonderful child. She gently took the baby's head in one hand, and with the other, she gently guided the shoulders through the opening. Once they were free, the rest of the body slid quickly out.

She looked down to see the tiny form, when he, for it was indeed a boy, sucked in his first lungsful of air and released it with a mighty cry. A weary smile crossed her face at the sound, and she laid him gently on a rag she had spread on the floor. She took the two pieces of twine, tied them tightly around the umbilical cord, and then cut the cord between the ties. She knew that the afterbirth still needed to be expelled so she wrapped the child in a rag and held him to her breast as she waited for the contractions she knew would come. As they did, she used one hand to help deliver the afterbirth, while her other hand held tightly to her son. After it was finished, she lay back on the floor and rested, while her beautiful boy quietly lay on her chest.

It only took a few moments, however, before he began to whimper, and only a few more before that whimper became a full-fledged cry. Anna smiled again at this sound, for to her, it meant that he was healthy and hearty. She sat up and reached for the pot of water. Using more of the rags, she gently cleaned the blood from her baby, and then from herself. Before cleaning up more, however, she took her son and lovingly gave him her breast. He immediately latched on and began to suckle. To Anna, it was the most amazing thing she had ever felt. She let her son nurse until he fell asleep in her arms, her nipple gently falling from his mouth as he drifted off. She laid him on the bed and gazed at his sleeping form for a moment. She had never thought she could feel this much love toward another human being, and it filled her with a wonderful peace to know that this boy would love her just as much.

As he slept on the bed, Anna turned to cleaning up the mess on the floor. She retrieved a newspaper from the rubbish pile, wrapped the afterbirth in it, and then returned it to the pile. She spent the next hour scrubbing the floor clean of blood, or as clean as she could, anyway. By the time she finished, it was early evening, and she knew that Albert would be home soon. The thought suddenly chilled her to the bone. What would his reaction be? Would he love their son as much as she?

Albert definitely had his moments when she remembered why she married him. He would bring her flowers for no reason, or come up behind her while she cooked and gently massage her shoulders. Any of these loving gestures usually led to the two of them in bed together, where he often continued his gentle ministrations until they were both satisfied and happily curled in each other's arms. These moments only happened, however, when he came home from work sober. Unfortunately, that didn't happen very often. Most of the time, she dreaded hearing his footsteps coming up the gravel walk to their house, because she knew he was probably drunk. When he was drunk, the Albert she had fallen in love with, the Albert of the flowers and massages, disappeared. In his place was the angry Albert, the Albert of the curses and blows. As she finished cleaning, she picked up her sleeping son, and waited for her husband to come home, she nervously wondered which Albert it would be who walked through the door.

* * *

The doctor came back out onto the porch dressed in a long overcoat, carrying his bag and an umbrella. He saw the woman standing at the edge of the porch looking off into the storm. She had obviously not heard him behind her, for when he gently touched her shoulder, she jumped and cringed as if she expected him to hit her. That reaction pierced the kind doctor's heart; he always hated to see a woman who was obviously used to a savage act when she was touched. He thought to himself that he would make sure to check on her well-being as well as her son's when he got to their house.

"Ma'am? Let's go see your son," he quietly said, as recognition slowly crossed her face while she stared wide-eyed at him.

Anna shook her head, scattering her previous thoughts, and grabbed the doctor by the hand. Once she realized who he was, she remembered her desperate reason for being there. "Please, sir, please hurry! I just know that Erik is dying!" She began dragging him off the porch toward the black car she saw sitting in the driveway.

"All right, all right," he said, opening the umbrella before they stepped off the porch into the rain, covering them both and protecting them from the drops falling rapidly from the sky. He walked her to the car, opening the passenger door for her and guiding her to the seat. He shut her door and hurried around the front of the car. As he opened his door, he shut the umbrella and then slid behind the wheel, placing his umbrella and bag on the seat between them. The woman was trembling and looking anxiously at him as he started the car and pulled out of the driveway.

"Which way?" he asked.

"Left," she replied. "We live about five miles down the road, near the river."

"Five miles?" he repeated incredulously. "You ran five miles to get me?"

"Yes," she said quietly, her whole body starting to shake violently.

The doctor didn't know if the shaking was from cold, exhaustion, or fear, but as he drove, he slipped out of his overcoat and draped it over her shoulders. She didn't react, so he didn't know if she even noticed, but it made him feel better to do something, anything, for this poor woman.

Only a few minutes passed before she told him to slow down. "There, on the right," she said, pointing to an overgrown gravel driveway off the main road. As he pulled into the driveway, they passed a rusted and dented mailbox, but it was too dark for him to see if there was a name on it. He stopped the car before a ramshackle house that told him that this family was definitely down on their luck. There were many families in Willow that were struggling to survive, but based on the state of the house, this family was worse off than most.

The house was no more than a one-room cabin, really. The porch was sagging at one end, and the two windows at the front were both cracked. As he followed the woman toward the house, he noticed that the yard was nothing but a large mud puddle. There was no sign of grass or trees or any other vegetation. All of these impressions were made within the space of a few moments, as they reached the door quickly. She pushed the door open and rushed in, her eyes wide with fear.

As he followed, the doctor's attention was immediately drawn to two figures on the floor of the cabin. One was a man bending over the other, who looked to be a child. Even from the door, the doctor could see the blood covering the body of the boy. He took two long strides toward the two, grabbed the shoulder of the man, and spun him around. The face he saw stunned him into immobility. He knew this man! He hadn't seen him for years, but he definitely knew him.

"Albert Taylor? Is that you?" the doctor peered intently into the eyes of a man who had been a friend at one time. The man he saw now bore very little resemblance to the man he remembered.

"Henry Clark," Albert said simply.

The doctor shook his head to clear the thousand questions that sprang to mind at seeing the man in this state. He directed his attention to the boy on the floor.

"What happened, Albert?"

The woman took a tentative step forward from her position at the door, but at one malevolent look from Albert, she froze. Albert turned his eyes back to Doctor Clark and spoke with slurred speech, "The boy was running in the house, and a jar fell from the shelf, landing on his head. It broke and cut him badly."

Doctor Clark vaguely heard the gasp of the woman behind him, but his medical instincts had kicked in, and he knelt down next to the child, noticing that Albert had gotten some rags and had held them to the boy's head, trying to stop the bleeding. The doctor could tell at a glance, however, that the wounds must be bad, as the rags were completely soaked through. He gently lifted one of the rags and inwardly cringed as he saw the gash on the boy's temple and cheek. The wound still bled freely, and he quickly covered it up again with the rag. He turned to the woman and saw the fear and horror etched in deep lines on her face.

"Albert, what is your wife's name?" he asked the man who had moved to sit on the bed.

"Huh?" Albert didn't seem to understand the question.

Doctor Clark was instantly disgusted by the knowledge that Albert was drunk, very drunk. He turned to the woman and gently asked, "What is your name?"

"Anna," she said timidly, glancing at her husband with naked fear in her eyes. Albert, however, was not paying attention to her. He was stupidly looking at the body on the floor, as if seeing it for the first time and not comprehending exactly what it was.

"Anna," Doctor Clark said quietly, looking at her intently until she looked back at him. "I need my bag, water, and clean rags."

"All right," she replied, and mechanically went about gathering the needed items, constantly directing her eyes toward her husband to gauge his reaction. She needn't have worried, though. Albert was still staring at his son, with a perplexed expression on his face. She gave the requested items to Doctor Clark, who quickly knelt by the boy again.

"Anna, I need your help," he said, not looking to see if she heard, as he retrieved a needle and heavy thread from his bag, along with some fresh bandages. "I need your help to save your son's life."

As these words penetrated Anna's fear-clouded mind, she gasped. She wrenched her eyes away from her husband and looked at her son. She saw the blood-soaked rags covering the left side of his head, and a new, unfamiliar fear filled her mind. This was a more primal, more primitive fear than the fear of her husband's wrath. This was the fear of a mother who was about to lose her child. She quickly knelt down on the floor next to the doctor.

"What do you need me to do?" she breathed.

"I will need you to mop up the blood as I sew," Doctor Clark said, glancing at her to see if she was able to do this. What he saw in her face surprised him. He had assumed that her husband had terrorized her to the point that all the fight had left her permanently. He saw now, however, that where her son was concerned, there was still some fight in her.

The doctor checked the wound for any remaining glass, and finding none, he began to sew up the horrific gash in the child's head, while his mother tried to keep up with the blood that was still flowing freely. It took a long time, but they finally got the cut closed. It worried the doctor that this had been done without any sort of anesthetic, and yet there had been no response whatsoever from the child. He knew the child lived, but he also knew he was far from safe. Doctor Clark gently examined the wound and, satisfied with what he saw, covered it with a fresh bandage. He then turned toward Albert to tell him that the child would have to come to the clinic for further treatment.

Albert had passed out on the bed while Anna and the doctor closed the gash on Erik's head, so Doctor Clark spoke to Anna instead.

"I must take this boy back to the clinic," he said. "He needs antibiotics and round-the-clock observation."

"Of course," she responded without hesitation. "Please do whatever is needed to save him."

Doctor Clark took one last look at the prone figure on the bed, who had now begun to snore, and then said, "Anna, come with me. I can protect you from him."

At these words, Anna instantly seemed to return to her previous frightened state. She also looked at the man on the bed and began to tremble again.

"No," she said simply, "you can't help. He will find me anywhere, and if I am not here when he wakes, he will be very angry." She turned tear-filled eyes to the doctor and smiled sadly. "Just take Erik and help him," she said quietly. "I will handle Albert."

Doctor Clark hesitated, but he knew that the law was on Albert's side. There was little anyone could do if a husband beat his wife. If the doctor tried to force Anna to come with him, he could be the one on the wrong side of the law. With deep regret, he gently picked up Erik and carried him out to his car. The rain had stopped, so he didn't need to worry about the fresh bandages getting wet. He gently laid the boy on the back seat of his car and climbed into the front seat. As he pulled away, he took one last look back at the rough cabin, and was not surprised to see Anna standing in the doorway, watching him pull out of the driveway with her child.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I opened my eyes, and quickly shut them again. The light hurt them so much that I thought I was going to go blind or pass out from the pain. My muddled mind wondered how someone had gotten the sun into our tiny cabin. I kept my eyes tightly shut, but I could hear things. I heard voices I did not recognize, and I heard metal clanking loudly. As I tried to sort out the sounds, I suddenly felt a cool touch on my forehead. I gently opened my eyes a slit to try to see where that heavenly feeling was coming from.

A woman was standing next to me and noticed this, and she excitedly called out, "Doctor Clark, he's coming around!"

I heard footsteps running into the room, and I felt another, stronger touch. I knew this was a man's touch, and I instantly froze, expecting the sound of my father's voice to accompany that touch, and neither of them was usually gentle. This man, however, very gently put his hand on my head, and I heard him ask, "Erik? Can you hear me?"

My voice didn't seem to want to work, but as my eyes adjusted to the little bit of light seeping into them, I was able to open them further and further, until they were fully open. The man in front of me instantly took his fingers, put them on my eyelids, and looked at one eye through a strange instrument. He did the same with the other eye, and then put the instrument on a table next to him. He looked into my face and asked again, "Can you hear me, Erik?"

I tried to nod, but the pain that shot through my head made tears spring to my eyes and had an involuntary groan escaping my lips. I closed my eyes again to help counter the spinning that had accompanied the pain.

"Don't move your head," the gentle voice said. "You've hurt it badly. Can you give me a thumbs up if you can hear me?"

My eyes still shut, I slowly raised my right hand with my thumb extended upward. Even this small movement caused a sharp pain in my ribs, but I held it out until I heard the man exhale sharply. I risked opening my eyes again to see the look on the man's face, and I saw definitely encouraged me. There was a bright smile on the man's face, as well as one on the face of the woman next to him. I dropped my hand heavily to the bed on which I lay, and tried to speak. The only sound that left my mouth was a croak, however. My mouth felt like I had been eating nothing but sand, and my throat was drier than dust. The man seemed to realize this, and he gently placed some small pieces of ice in my mouth. The feeling of them melting in my mouth was absolutely divine, and I eagerly swallowed the water. I tried again to speak to the man before me.

"Where am I?" I managed to rasp out.

The man gave me a few more pieces of ice before stating, "You are at the medical clinic in Willow, Erik. You have a very serious cut on your head, and we have been very worried about you."

The thought startled me; the only person I knew who had ever been worried about me was my mother. I wasn't entirely sure anyone else even knew I existed, much less worried about me.

"Where is my mother?" I asked.

"She is still at your home, with your father," the man said with a scowl on his face. I flinched at the look, knowing that a scowl was usually accompanied by a blow. The man saw me flinch, and his face immediately changed into a look of confusion. Then, just as quickly, a look of understanding and compassion replaced the confusion.

"Oh, no, Erik, I am not angry with you; I am angry with your father. He had no right to do this to you." The man knelt down next to the bed and took my hand in his.

I was stunned. I was not surprised at a gentle touch from a woman; after all, my mother was always gentle with me – even touching me when my father couldn't see. I never expected to feel such a touch from a man, though. Of course, the only man I knew was my father, and I had always assumed that all men were just like him. This man in front of me was beginning to show me, however, that this might not be true.

"Who are you?" I asked him, fully expecting the answer to be "an angel."

"My name is Doctor Clark. This is Nurse Williams. We are going to take care of you until you are better."

"What happened to me?" I remembered my father asking me about the flower, but everything after that was a complete blank.

Doctor Clark looked up at the nurse with an unreadable look. I saw her shake her head very slowly, and then the doctor sighed and turned back to me. "A jar fell from a shelf and cut your head quite badly; it also gave you a concussion."

"What is a concussion?"

"A concussion is when your brain suffers a shock from a heavy blow. If the concussion is severe enough you can become unconscious. This is what happened to you. You have been here for four hours, and this is the first time you have done anything more than breathe." He said the last with a small smile on his face. I had no concept of a joke, so the light humor completely escaped me.

I suddenly felt extremely tired, and I could feel my eyes closing against my will. I still had questions I had to ask, such as, "How did the jar fall on me from a shelf when it was in my father's hand?" The doctor noticed my eyes closing, however, and immediately reached up and pulled up the blanket that had slid down to my waist.

"No more questions now, Erik. What you need is sleep. We'll talk more when you wake."

I tried to respond, but my mouth suddenly stopped working. As I drifted off to sleep, I heard Doctor Clark say, "Nurse, can you bring the cot and some blankets in here? I want to stay by him tonight in case something goes wrong." After that, I remember nothing else until the next morning.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I slowly woke up to the smell of food cooking, and I had never smelled food like this. The porridge we normally ate in the mornings didn't have much of a food smell; it was more like paste. The smells coming through the door here, however, were fantastic. I had no idea what they were, but I was happy to lie in this soft bed and just imagine eating whatever it was. My stomach growled at the thought. I knew that someone like me would never be invited to join in the meal with whomever was eating it, however, so I contented myself with enjoying the smells. As I lay there, my thoughts went back to the previous evening. I remembered clearly my father's tirade, but there was a foggy patch of memory from the time he asked about the flower to waking up in this place. I still wasn't entirely sure where this place was, but I remembered the man who called himself Doctor Clark.

Doctor Clark was older than my father; my guess would be about sixty years old. His white hair had made him look distinguished, even though it was disheveled and wet the night before. When he touched me, his hands had been soft and gentle, almost like my mother's. I didn't know that a man's hands could feel like that. My father's hands were rough and callused due to the physical nature of the work he did when he could find it. The most amazing thing about the doctor, though, was his voice. When he spoke to me, I felt as if an angel had entered the room. The sounds that reached my ear were smooth, quiet, and deep, without any of the harsh, grating noises I was used to hearing from my father. I suddenly longed to hear the doctor's voice again, if only to reassure myself that I had not imagined it.

As this last thought ran through my head, the door opened, and the nurse from the night before – Nurse Williams, I remembered – came in with a tray balanced across her hands. From my position on the bed, I could see two glasses, one full of orange juice and the other, milk. There was also a towel covering what looked to be a plate. The same smells from before came from the tray, and I wondered if she was going to eat her breakfast in here. She placed the tray on the small table next to the bed and gently helped me sit up. As I did so, there was sharp pain in my head and my ribs, but it was short-lived, and I settled in as the nurse propped me up with pillows. My eyes widened in surprise when she laid the tray on my lap and removed the towel covering the plate.

I had never seen this much food in one place before, and certainly not in front of me. There was bacon and eggs, toast, and a small bowl full of jam. The aroma of the food made my stomach growl again, and I had to reach up and wipe away a small line of drool that had escaped my mouth. I kept my hands in my lap as I turned to Nurse Williams. "Is this all for me?" I asked her timidly. I immediately regretted speaking, and I cringed and closed my eyes as I braced myself for the blow I knew was coming.

After a few moments, when the expected strike hadn't come, I dared to peek out at the nurse. She had a look of confusion on her face, which gave me the courage to open my eyes fully.

"Of course it is for you," she said, the confusion evident in her voice. "Why would you think otherwise?"

"Well," I said, as I straightened again, "I have never had this much food before, or this kind of food, for that matter."

"What do you normally eat, then?"

"Porridge, usually. When my father has a good day at work, sometimes my mother is able to make soup, but that doesn't happen very often." I tried to be polite and focus on what I was saying, but the smells coming from the tray were very distracting.

"Oh." The perplexed look on her face began to fade, but then returned as she continued, "Why did you flinch like that?"

My cheeks flushed. "My father does not like it when I talk to him. He says I have no right to ask for anything."

Nurse Williams' expression swiftly changed to one of outrage. "What? That is ridiculous! Why would he say such a thing?"

"Because of the way I look, of course," I said matter-of-factly. "He says that someone with a face as hideous as mine should be grateful for every scrap people give me. My mother tells me not to believe him, but I know she is simply blinded by a mother's love." As I was talking, my gaze kept flicking back and forth between the nurse's face and the tray on my lap. I dared a glance at the nurse, the unspoken question evident in my eyes.

She looked as if she wanted to say more, but when she saw my glance, she smiled and said, "Well, we will talk more about this later. Now, you should eat; I will leave you to it." She turned and left the room, quietly shutting the door behind her.

After she was gone, my attention turned once again to the feast before me. I truly had no idea where to start. My throat was dry, so I picked up the glass of juice and took a small sip. The sensations that hit my mouth were overwhelming. I had never thought that anything could taste so good. I closed my eyes and savored the taste on my tongue, and when it finally trickled down my throat, I opened my eyes and took another sip. I put the glass back on the tray and picked up the fork lying by the plate. I turned it over in my hands, and awkwardly held it as I had seen my father do. I had never used a fork or spoon myself, but I mimicked what I had seen, and carefully picked up a piece of the egg on the fork. I slowly transferred it to my mouth and took my first bite. My mind reeled as it tried to process the new perceptions it was receiving.

I spent the next half hour enjoying the meal that was before me. At first, I was tempted to eat it all quickly, for I was starving, but then I decided to make it last as long as possible since I had no idea when I would eat like this again. As the last drop of milk traveled from the glass into my mouth, the door of the room opened. I set the glass back on the tray as Doctor Clark entered.

"So," he said with a smile as he saw the empty tray, "I see you enjoyed your breakfast."

"Oh, yes, sir. It was wonderful, thank you."

"Don't mention it, my boy," he replied as he approached the bed. He took the tray off my lap and set it on the table. "You looked like you could use a decent breakfast."

The doctor pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and began to examine me. First he checked my eyes, and then he gently removed the bandages covering my temple and cheek. He seemed satisfied with what he saw, because he replaced them and then looked at me.

"How are you feeling today, Erik?"

"Much better, sir, thank you. My head still hurts a little, but it will be all right, I'm sure." My ribs were aching, also, but that was not unusual, so I didn't see any reason to mention it.

"Yes, I'm sure it will," he said with a smile. Then his expression became serious.

"Erik," he said, with a slight hesitation, "do you remember what happened last night?"

Immediately, my stomach clenched, and I thought for a moment that the delicious breakfast I had just eaten would be coming right back up. I swallowed hard, though, and the food stayed where it was. I wracked my brain trying to think of what to tell Doctor Clark. I knew that if I told him the truth, my father would be furious, but I also knew that to lie to such a kind-hearted man would be wrong. As the doctor looked at me expectantly, I suddenly knew what to say that would not enrage my father, nor cause me to lie.

"Well," I began, "I remember that my father was asking me questions about a flower I had gotten for the table. He was asking me where I got it, and then I remember lying on the floor, wondering why my hair was wet, and why the water was red. After that, I remember waking up here." I simply left out the fact that my father had been holding the jar with the flower in it.

"Hmm," the doctor rubbed his chin as he looked at me. "For the table, you say?"

"Yes, sir."

"That is very interesting," he replied, as he stood up. He seemed to be debating whether to say anything else or not. He must have decided not to, for then he began to walk to the door as he said, "Well, I have some things to attend to. Nurse Williams will get you anything you need; there is a bell here on the table that you can ring if you need her. I don't want you getting out of that bed alone, do you understand?"

I nodded quickly, which was a big mistake, for as I did so, pain exploded in my head. I cried out, and Doctor Clark rushed back over to me and held my head in his hands until the pain subsided.

"And try not to move your head too much," he continued, a worried look in his eyes. "Remember that you have a concussion. It will take some time before you can move without pain."

"Yes, sir," I managed. With a deep breath that brought about another pain in my ribs, I then dared to ask, "Before you go, sir, could you help me lie down again? I think I would like to sleep right now."

"Of course, my child," and he slid me down on the bed until I was lying flat. He pulled the covers up to my shoulders and gently brushed a strand of hair off of my forehead. "Sleep well, Erik," he said softly, with a look of deep sorrow in his eyes. "Sleep well." As I drifted off to sleep, I heard him move the chair back to the table, cross the room, and quietly shut the door.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

After he shut the door behind him, Henry Clark stood with his hand on the doorknob trying to rein in his emotions. Intense anger against Erik's father was warring with equally intense compassion for Erik in his mind. He thought he knew exactly what had happened in that cabin the night before; even though Erik had not actually accused his father, Henry was certain Albert had caused Erik's injuries. He was furious that a father was capable of doing such things to his own son, and as he thought about it more, he knew what he had to do.

He released the doorknob and quickly walked toward his office. Shirley Williams was in there at the filing cabinet. As he walked in, she stopped what she was doing, closed the drawer, and turned to face him.

"How is he, Henry?" she asked.

"As far as the concussion is concerned, I think he'll be fine in another day or so," Henry answered, as he sat in the chair behind his desk. "The cut itself, of course, will take much longer to heal, and I am afraid there will be quite a scar. I am more worried about the situation at home, though." He placed his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers. "Erik won't admit it, but I know that Albert had something to do with this." He suddenly slapped his hands down on the desk and stood up. Shirley jumped from the sound as he continued, "I am going to go talk to Albert's wife, Anna, and see if she will tell me the truth."

Shirley looked at Henry worriedly. "You will be careful, right? After all, a man who can do this to his own child is obviously not right in the head."

Henry released a small, ironic chuckle. "I will do my utmost to keep everyone calm. However, if Albert decides to be stupid and escalate the situation, at least that will be an excuse to bring in the authorities."

He strode around his desk and to the coat rack by the front door. He felt better now that he had a definite plan. As he put on his coat and hat, he turned to Shirley. "Erik is asleep right now, but I have told him not to do anything by himself. When he wakes up, please help him to the bathroom. Also, he is not too much smaller than myself, so go ahead and give him some of my clothes to wear. If he is not too embarrassed by it, you can offer to help him bathe, but he is a teenage boy, so I'm not sure if he will allow that. He can wait to clean up until I get back, if necessary. As for medication, the only things I want him to have are aspirin for the pain and the antibiotics. Of course, check the wound on his head and keep it clean. Send someone for me immediately if it looks like it may be getting infected. Hopefully, I won't be gone too long; I may even be back before he wakes up."

Shirley had listened to these instructions with a small smile on her face. She had been working for Doctor Clark for the last five years, ever since graduating from the nursing school in Knoxville. She knew all of the things she needed to do for Erik, but she let Henry tell her anyway. Some people may have been annoyed with the way he acted – like she didn't know what she was doing – but Shirley knew that he was just being thorough, and she hadn't thought about how to get Erik clean clothes. The doctor lived in a small apartment on the second floor of the clinic, so there would be no problems getting the clothes.

"I'll make sure he is taken care of, Doctor," she responded when he was finished. "Don't worry; we'll be fine until you get back."

Doctor Clark nodded and turned to open the front door. As he left the clinic, his mind turned toward the conversation he was about to have with Albert Taylor. Even though he had told Shirley that he would be all right, he was actually quite nervous about confronting him. Henry had known Albert since the latter was in grade school, and Albert had never been a small person. In high school, he had played football, helping the team to win the state championship all four years he played. As he drove out to the Taylor cabin, Henry ran different conversations through his head, trying to think of the best way to get the answers he needed without endangering himself or Anna Taylor.

* * *

I woke up slowly, but I was aware of an increasing pressure in my bladder. I gingerly sat up, wincing once more at the pain in my head and ribs. The bell Doctor Clark had left for me was sitting on the table, and I rang it desperately. When Nurse Williams walked in, I was squirming underneath the covers, making it evident what I needed.

Trying to hide the smile that I could see was threatening to cross her face, the nurse walked to my bed. "Yes, Erik, how may I help you?"

I could feel a hot blush rise from my neck to cover my face, but I put the bell down on the table and tried to tell her what I needed. "I…" my throat felt dry, and I cleared it. "I need to…"

Nurse Williams looked at me for a short moment and then nodded as if she had just understood what I was trying to say. "Do you need to use the bathroom?"

If possible, my blush deepened even more. "Y-Yes, ma'am," I stuttered, turning my eyes away from her.

Shirley let out a little laugh at my embarrassment. "It's all right, Erik. It's a perfectly normal need, especially after that breakfast you ate." She walked to my bed and put my left arm around her shoulder. "Now, stand up slowly. If your head starts hurting too much, let me know. I can always get you a bedpan."

"What's a bedpan?" I asked.

"A pan that you can use to relieve yourself without getting out of bed."

My face twisted into a grimace of disgust at that thought. "I think I can make it to the bathroom," I commented dryly.

Shirley laughed again and gently helped me to my feet. She looked at my face and probably saw me wince again, but as I stood there, I was pretty sure I wouldn't pass out. We slowly walked across the room to the attached bathroom, and when Shirley opened the door, she asked, "Will you need any help?"

The blush returned to my face, and I quickly said, "No, ma'am, I'll be fine."

"All right, then. Doctor Clark does not want you to bathe by yourself, but I will bring you some clean clothes for you to change into when you are done. I will help you back to the bed, and then we'll see if you need help changing, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," I replied. Shirley helped me into the bathroom and made sure that I could stand by myself before going back into the sickroom, closing the door behind her.

I stood at the toilet, using one hand to hold onto the sink. As I relieved myself, I thought back to the events of the night before. It wasn't that I was surprised they had happened, for my father was never gentle with me, but he had also never been quite as out-of-control before. My memories did not include a time where he had beaten me into unconsciousness.

As I finished, the realization hit me for the first time that I didn't know how to use this toilet. At home, we had an outhouse, so the process of relieving yourself was very simple. I looked at the toilet for a moment, and then noticed a small lever on the side. I reached over and pressed the lever down, completely fascinated when there was a rush of sound and water began swirling down the toilet. What an amazing invention! The first thing I noticed was the lack of smell after the job was done. The smell was the worst thing about an outhouse, and after having used this toilet, I definitely never wanted to go back to the old way of doing these things..

I carefully positioned myself in front of the sink and washed my hands. I tried to avoid looking into the mirror, but I couldn't resist. The image that confronted me made me even more disgusted than usual. For now, in addition to my ugly face, there was a large, white bandage covering my left temple and cheek. I tried to raise my hand to touch the bandage, but the pain in my ribs prevented me from bringing it any higher than my shoulder. I slowly lowered it, gave my reflection one last glare, and turned to the door.

"Nurse Williams? I'm done."

The door opened immediately, and the nurse came in to help me back to the bed. On it, there was a neat pile of clothes. As she helped me sit down, she asked, "So, do you think you can change by yourself, or do you want me to help you?"

I remembered the pain in my ribs when I tried to raise my hand in the bathroom, but I definitely did not want her to see any part of me not normally covered by clothes. Subjecting her to the horrors of my face was bad enough; I didn't want to make her faint at the sight of the rest of me. Even though I wasn't entirely confident about it, I answered, "I think I can manage, thanks."

"Okay, but you ring the bell if you have any problems, understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," I responded.

"Let me know when you are done, and I will be back to give you your medicine," she continued.

"Yes, ma'am," I repeated.

With that, the nurse left the room. I picked up the pile of clothes on the bed and saw that it included a shirt, undershirt, pants, underwear, and socks. I slowly began removing my own clothes; starting with my shirt. Fortunately, it buttoned down the front, so I did not have to raise my arms above my head. I could not twist to pull it off my arms, so I just let it slide off my arms onto the bed behind me. When I had the shirt off, I unsnapped my pants and slowly stood so that I could take them off, along with my underwear. I only stood long enough to pull them down past my seat, and then resumed my position on the bed. While bending to take them off my legs hurt, it wasn't as bad as raising my arms, so I pulled them off and dropped them on the floor.

The effort of undressing was more than I had expected, and I was getting very tired. I knew I couldn't very well call the nurse in now, however, as I was stark naked, so I began redressing myself in the clean clothes. I took the underwear first and slipped it over my feet. Next came the pants, which I put on before I stood up. Then I stood again and pulled up both of them to my waist, buttoning the waistband after I sat down. It was obvious that there was no way I would be able to put on the undershirt, so I attempted to put on the shirt. I managed to get one arm into a sleeve, but no matter how I tried, I could not twist my body to get the other sleeve without feeling like I was going to pass out from the pain in my ribs. After a few attempts, I realized it was useless, and at least I had my pants on, so, with one arm still in a sleeve, I reluctantly took the bell and rang it.

Nurse Williams immediately entered the room and walked over to me. She stopped suddenly, however, and raised her hands to her mouth. There was a hiss as she sharply inhaled through her teeth. I dropped my head shamefully, my gaze settling somewhere near my feet. I knew I should not have called her in; the view of my body was too much for even a nurse to stomach.

"Erik," she managed to say, as tears welled in her eyes, "what did he do to you?"

My mind must not have been working right, for I had no idea what she was talking about. She already knew about my head, so that couldn't have been it. I looked at her and noticed that she was looking at my chest. I brought my gaze to the same place, but did not see anything that could have prompted such a reaction. I knew that my body was as ugly as my face, but that wasn't what she commented on. She must mean the marks on me; my body was covered in a grotesque pattern of black, green, and yellow splotches. I vaguely noticed that there was a new, very black patch, over my left ribs, but that was nothing new, so I just looked back at Nurse Williams.

"What?" I questioned. "This is just how I look. I know my body is horrifying to look at, but it is just that way."

"No, Erik," she said, anger now becoming evident in her voice, although the tears did not disappear. She came over to the bed and knelt down at my feet. She slowly raised a hand to my chest and gently touched it. "There is nothing normal about this. Do you not realize that these are bruises? These marks were caused by someone hitting you."

My mind reeled as memories of my father's fists and feet plowing into me flooded my brain. I could not remember a time when he wasn't hitting me or kicking me. I never knew that the marks on my body were a result of that, however. It seemed that they had just always been there, and he had always used them as further proof that I was hideous and undeserving of pity or compassion. Was it true that he had caused them? It didn't seem like that was possible. As I tried to wrestle with this new idea, I suddenly felt very light-headed, and I began to fall forward.

Nurse Williams caught me gently and laid me back down on the bed after removing my arm from the shirt sleeve.

"It's all right, Erik," she soothed. "We'll take care of you. No one will ever hurt you again."

I was feeling better just from laying down, but I was suddenly very tired. I turned my head toward the nurse. I knew I was stupid, but nothing was making sense. Maybe it was just because of the concussion, but I didn't understand anything that was happening. "Why are you doing this? I don't deserve this kindness."

"Of course you do," she responded. "Every human being deserves kindness," and I noticed that the tears that had been threatening to fall from her eyes had finally done so.

I tried to correct her misinformation, and to tell her that I wasn't worth her tears, but I couldn't seem to stay awake. The sounds of Nurse Williams gathering up the clothes around me drifted into my mind, and sleep came to claim me once again.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

When I awoke, the room was dark. I had no idea how long I had been asleep this time, but it had been morning the last time I was awake. I sat up in bed, noticing that the pain in my ribs had lessened somewhat. As I reached for the bell, I saw that I was still only wearing the pants I had put on. My upper body was now tightly wrapped in bandages, and the idea that the doctor had seen what was under them brought a flush of shame to my cheeks.

I rang the bell, and a few moments later, Doctor Clark came into the room, turning on the light as he came. All thoughts left my head as I realized that he had not lit a lamp or a candle, but had only pushed a lever on the wall. Suddenly, the room was filled with light. I made a mental note to ask him about that, but he had made it to the bed. Anger was evident in his look as he pulled a chair up to the bed and sat down.

First, he again looked into my eyes with his instrument and then he gently lifted the bandages on my head to inspect the wound underneath. Then he directed his attention to my upper body. He gently touched the bandages and watched my face for my reaction. The pain in my ribs was still there, but it was manageable now, so there was no visible reaction from me. This seemed to puzzle the doctor, but he did not comment. As a matter of fact, he hadn't said one word since entering the room. His teeth were just short of being clenched the entire time he examined me, and I began to worry that I had done something to anger him. His gentle hands seemed to dispute that idea, but I could tell he was very angry about something.

"Doctor Clark?" I ventured tentatively. "Are you angry with me?"

I flinched and turned away when his head snapped up, but he gently grasped my chin and turned my face toward him. Compassion had almost replaced the anger in his eyes as he looked at me, but not completely.

"No, Erik," he gently said, "I am not angry with you. You never need to fear me, do you understand? I will never hurt you, and I will make sure no one ever hurts you again."

"Yes, sir, I understand," I said, but doubt still clambered for a spot in my mind. "Why are you angry, then?"

He dropped his hand to his lap and sighed heavily. "I am angry at your father," he stated. "I am angry that he was allowed to do such things to you and your mother with no one intervening. I am angry at myself for not knowing what was going on in my own town. Yes, Erik, I am angry, but not at you. None of this is your fault."

His words began to penetrate the doubt in my mind, and for the first time in my life, I felt like someone other than my mother cared about me. As I pondered what he had said, I felt him take my hand in his.

"Erik," he started, making me look at him once again, "I have something to tell you." He stopped, as if he wasn't sure he wanted to speak. "It is going to be very hard for you to hear."

At these words, dread began to fill my soul. The way he said it, I knew it was bad news, and the way he was stalling, I was fairly sure it was very bad news.

"What is it, Doctor Clark?" I asked, though I wasn't entirely sure I really wanted to know.

He sighed again and looked straight into my eyes. "Your father and mother have disappeared," he said slowly, closely watching for my response.

"Disappeared?" I asked. "What do you mean by disappeared?"

"I mean that I went to your house earlier today, and they were gone. The house was empty, and there was no sign of either of them. I went to a few of your neighbors, but no one had seen them leave. There is no indication at all to show where they went."

This was not what I had expected to hear. I wasn't sure what I had expected, but definitely not this. My mother was gone. I didn't care at all that my father was gone, but I didn't know what I was going to do without my mother. She was the only one in my life who had ever loved me. She was the only person that I loved. I looked at Doctor Clark with fear and confusion, and I slowly shook my head.

"That's not possible, Doctor," I blurted. "My mother would never leave me. She wouldn't do that. Why would she leave? She…she loves me!" My voice had gotten louder and shriller as my tirade continued, but I could not seem to control it.

I felt Doctor Clark sit on the bed, and his arm went around my shoulders. He drew my head to his chest, and he whispered, "Shh, Erik, everything will be all right. We will figure something out, don't worry."

My breathing accelerated to the point where my ribs were throbbing again, but I couldn't stop. I felt a burning behind my eyes, but the tears would not fall. I had learned early on in life that tears only made my father more angry, so I had not cried since I was a very little boy, and, as much as I wanted to, I could not cry now.

I don't know how long we sat like that – Doctor Clark holding me, and me trying not to hyperventilate, desperately wanting to cry. It seemed like hours had passed when the doctor released me and sat me back up against the pillows. He seemed surprised that my eyes were dry, but he did not comment on it.

"What," I started, "is going to happen to me now, sir?" The thought that I was now alone was terrifying.

"I'm not sure, Erik. I'll have to consult the authorities to find out what our next move should be."

At the mention of the authorities, my stomach clenched with fear, and I quickly swallowed a few times in attempt to keep calm. My father had always warned me that if the police were ever involved in our lives, they would take me and lock me up away from people so that no one would have to look at my hideousness again. Despite my efforts, however, I could feel my hands begin to shake and sweat forming on my forehead. Doctor Clark was a very observant man, and no matter how hard I tried to hide it, he saw my fear.

"What's the matter, Erik?" He took my hand and patted it tenderly. Misunderstanding the reason for my terror, he continued, "Don't be afraid; your father cannot hurt you anymore."

I let the misunderstanding remain, for I did not have the strength or desire to explain to this wonderful man that he was wasting his kindness on one such as me. I decided to simply let him do as he must, and I quickly resigned myself to the consequences of his actions. I thought that if I must be locked away from the world, then so be it, for without my mother and her tender, albeit misguided, nightly words of compassion and love, I had nothing to live for, anyway.

I slipped my hand out of Doctor Clark's and slowly rolled onto my side so that my back faced him. I heard him softly sigh and then felt him pull the blanket up over me, resting his hand lightly on my shoulder for a brief moment. I closed my eyes as he walked to the door and turned off the light. I greatly hoped for sleep to come and chase away the reality of my situation, but it did not fulfill that hope until many more hours had passed.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

I was soon allowed to get out of bed as my ribs and head began to heal, and I spent much of the first day on my feet exploring the clinic. It was really the first floor of a large house, with the front room being the reception and waiting area. The other rooms on that floor had been converted into two examination rooms, one of which I had occupied for the past three days, and Doctor Clark's office. There was the small bathroom which was attached to the room I was in, and at the back of the house, there was a kitchen.

The fourth day, I felt strong enough to attempt the stairs, and, as Doctor Clark had given me permission to go anywhere in the house except his office, I decided to see what was on the second floor. The staircase split the house down the middle, and at the landing, the hallway wrapped around to the left and the right. I started to the left, which showed two doors. The first was another bathroom, and the second opened onto a small bedroom. The bedroom was simply decorated with a bed in the middle of the room and a chest of drawers next to the only window. The bedspread and curtains were a pale blue in color, and the walls were painted in a light green, with the carpet the same blue as the curtains. The room didn't appear to belong to anyone, however, as there were no personal items anywhere in the room. I supposed that perhaps Doctor Clark used the room for guests. I closed the door and returned to the landing, where I continued toward the right-hand hallway. This hallway also had two doors, the first of which opened onto what I could only guess was the doctor's bedroom. It was decorated in a much darker style than the first bedroom. This room had a dark wood bed with a chest of drawers and a nightstand of the same wood. The curtains and bedspread were a rich brown, with a light tan carpet underfoot, the walls painted the same color as the carpet. Unlike the first bedroom, however, there were copious books and papers covering the nightstand and what looked to be personal hygiene items on the dresser. I suddenly felt as if I were intruding on the doctor's privacy, and I quickly backed out and shut the door.

The last door opened onto a room that I had only dreamed about. As the door swung open, I beheld shelves and shelves of books. I was astounded; I had never before believed that there were that many books in the world, much less all in one room. I vaguely noticed a reading chair in the middle of the room with a small table beside it. A reading lamp sat on the table, as well as a book with a marker sticking out from between the pages. My steps brought me to the shelves, though, and I reverently brushed my fingers over the spines, some covered with leather, some with paper. I was still occupied thusly when the doctor appeared at the door. Years spent straining my ears for any sound of my father's approach to our cabin had heightened my hearing so that I knew the doctor was coming long before he turned into the doorway. I stopped walking, and with my hand still on the books, looked up at him.

"Well, Erik, I wasn't expecting you to be in here. Not too many boys your age would choose to spend their time in a library." His face held a small smile, and this alone kept me from guiltily dropping my hand to my side.

"Yes, sir, I have always dreamed of having books to read. My father thought that reading was a useless thing for me to learn since I would never have any use for it." My eyes traveled longingly back to the wall of books.

"Wait," Doctor Clark said, as he stepped further into the room, "are you telling me that you cannot read? What about school? Didn't they teach you there?"

"School, sir?" At this, I did drop my hand and turned to fully face the doctor. "I have never been to school. Why would my parents want to subject any children to the horrors of my face? My father told me that the school wouldn't have accepted me anyway, because the other parents would have insisted that I be banned to prevent my face from causing nightmares for their children."

"That's it!" I cringed and turned away at the sharpness in Doctor Clark's voice. Sudden resignation filled my mind as I realized that I had finally said something to make him hate me just as much as everyone else did. I knew that it had to have happened sooner or later, but I was slightly disappointed that it was sooner rather than later. My eyes squeezed shut involuntarily as I waited for the expected blow. They snapped open, however, when Doctor Clark gently laid his hand on my shoulder and turned me to face him. There was something in his eyes that I did not recognize, but it was not anger or disgust. "No, Erik, no! I am so sorry! I did not mean to snap at you like that. I am not angry with you. I am angry with your father." He softly took my shoulders and made me sit in the chair. I shrank back in the chair uncertainly when his hands left me and he knelt down on the floor at my feet. "Erik, please stop pulling away from me. I promise you that I will never, never hurt you. Don't you believe me?"

One small part of my mind was screaming at me that I could trust this man, but years at my father's hands had eroded trust so that it was only a tiny flicker in my brain. I tried my best to relax, nevertheless, and I clasped my hands together in my lap as I bravely met the doctor's gaze with my own. "Yes, sir," I said, "I believe you," though I wasn't completely sure that was the truth. Doctor Clark accepted it as such, though, and smiled.

"Good, good. Now, I want you to listen closely. I am going to tell you something that will be very hard for you to believe, but I want you to try, all right?"

"Yes, sir."

The doctor took a deep breath and grasped my hand in both of his. "Erik, what your father has told you about yourself is a lie. You are not ugly, you are not stupid, and you are not worthless. You are a beautiful boy who has been subjected to the worst of mankind's cruelty and hatred. I don't know why this is so, but believe me when I say that your father's image of you is not true. What he has told you all your life is not true. Do you understand what I am trying to tell you?"

My mind had started spinning at the first sentence he said. A lie? That was not possible. My father wouldn't lie to me, would he? Why would he say I was hideous and stupid when I wasn't? None of it made any sense, but as Doctor Clark continued talking, I remembered the things my mother had constantly said to me: "You are my son. You are my beautiful, talented, intelligent boy. You are my Erik." Was she right all along? I had always thought her words were those of a mother blinded by love for her child, but what if they were the real truth? The conflicting thoughts in my head were too much for me to handle, and I leaned my head back against the headrest of the chair and closed my eyes. Instantly, I felt Doctor Clark's hand on my cheek.

"Erik? Are you all right?"

I kept my eyes closed, but the answer still came shakily from my lips, "Yes, sir, I think so. I just don't know what to think about all this." I opened my eyes and raised my head a little so that I could look at him. The anguish I was feeling must have been evident in my face, for he grasped my head in his hands and gently pulled me to his chest. I clung to his shirt as if it were a lifeline. My heart felt like it was being crushed, and it was becoming increasingly hard to breathe. "Why?" I managed to croak out. "Why would he say those things to me if they were not true?"

"Oh, Erik, I can't tell you that. I don't know why some people are cruel to others." He pulled my head from his chest and looked deeply into my eyes. "Nurse Williams said that your mother told you she loved you, is that right?"

"Yes, sir, but that…"

"No, buts, Erik. I want you to do your best to believe what your mother told you and to know that all that your father told you was a lie. Can you try to do that for me?"

"Yes, sir, I'll try," I said, releasing his shirt.

His hands dropped from my face, and he stood up, "That's good, Erik. Now, we should go downstairs so you can rest."

He carefully helped me to stand and kept his hand around my shoulders as we walked out of the library and back downstairs to the examination room. I don't remember much after that, but I do know that he helped me into bed and pulled the blanket up around me. I turned onto my side and faced the wall as he left the room quietly. Everything I had just heard was rushing around my brain, contradictory words crashing into one another and rebounding with such force that I couldn't grasp any of them. Finally, I managed to hold onto one simple thought: my mother had loved me. No matter how many times my father had beaten her for it, she had never relinquished her love for me. But as this comforting thought took place in the forefront of my mind, another quickly and ruthlessly shoved it out of the way. If my mother loved me so much, why did she leave? Maybe my father was right after all, and she and Doctor Clark were the ones who were wrong.

As I lay on the bed and began to drift off toward sleep, the burning behind my eyes began again, but again, the tears would not fall.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The time went slowly by, one day drifting into another in a succession of hazy, confusing moments. The pain in my head was gradually receding, but it was still there, and, as such, I was still on some fairly strong medication which made me groggy. Doctor Clark had moved me out of the examination room into the second bedroom upstairs, and I thought that I had been moved into heaven. It amazed me to think of how much money Doctor Clark must have to be able to afford such luxury. The first night I slept in the bed, I thought to myself that I never wanted to get up again, for, as comfortable as the bed in the exam room was, the one in the bedroom was a thousand times softer and warmer. My bare feet sank into the carpet each time I got out of bed, and my toes unconsciously curled into the plush softness.

Doctor Clark had also given me some of his own clothes to wear. When he first suggested it, I laughed to myself, picturing how I would look with this large man's clothing hanging off of my frail, puny body. However, when I first changed into the clean jeans and shirt, I was surprised to find that they fit me quite well. Although Doctor Clark obviously had quite a few pounds on me, the length of the pants and the sleeves were only a little bit too long. I looked at myself in the mirror and still saw a scrawny, useless creature, but I couldn't deny the fact that the doctor and I were almost the same height. Since the doctor was by no means a small man, my brain fought with itself over the idea that I might not be as small as my father had led me to believe. It was then that I realized that the clothing I had changed into my first day here were probably also the doctor's; I had assumed they had belonged to someone much smaller than him - a son, perhaps.

A lot of my time was spent in bed, but when I wasn't there, I was usually in the library. Even though I couldn't read a word, there was something about the feel and the smell of that room that made me feel safe. I would take a book and curl up in the chair, staring at the markings on the pages, desperately wishing I could understand them. I contented myself with looking at pictures; there were animals and people and cities and mountains. Some of the pictures were in color, and some were black and white, but I thought they were all beautiful. I wanted to ask Doctor Clark about them, but I knew that, no matter how kind he had been to me, he was far too busy to worry about my inane questions.

I was in the library one day about a week after I was injured when I heard the small bell above the front door ring. This was a common occurrence since Doctor Clark was the only doctor in our small town. People came in all the time for injuries or illnesses. I stayed out of sight when anyone came through the door; from the top of the stairs, if I stayed to the side, I could see down into the front room and watch the people who were waiting there without them seeing me. When I heard the bell ring, I put down the book I was looking at and crept to the stairs. The left side of my head and face were still swathed in bandages, and my left eye was still slighty swollen, so I had to position myself so that I could use my right eye to see. Peering through the bannister, I saw a man in a tan and black uniform walk into the clinic. I gasped in horror; I instantly knew that this man was a police officer. My father had often told me that if the police ever found out about me, they would take me away, torture me, and lock me in a cage for the rest of my life. He told me that just me being alive was a crime, and they would make sure that no one ever saw me again.

As these terrifying thoughts flooded my brain, I began to shake uncontrollably, and I was about to flee back to the safety of the library when I heard my name spoken by the officer. I was now paralyzed by fear, and, even if my very life had depended on it, I would not have been able to move from that spot. Even when Nurse Williams left him and began to climb the stairs, I was frozen. She knew that I watched the people who came to the clinic, so she wasn't surprised to see me crouched on the floor, but she stopped in shock when she saw me with my hands clenching the wooden slats on the railing and my body trembling all over, she rushed to me and knelt down, trying to turn me around..

"Erik? What's wrong?" Her panicked voice failed to break through the terror that my mind was in, and it sounded as if it were coming to me from across a great distance.

The officer must have heard her fear from the front room, for he came rushing toward the stairs. As soon as his foot hit the bottom step, my paralysis was shattered, and I broke from the nurse's grip and bolted to the library, slamming the door behind me. I frantically scanned the room for somewhere to hide, and found nothing, so I crammed myself into the small space between two bookcases in the corner farthest from the door, my trembling becoming almost convulsive. I could hear footsteps quickly mount the stairs and race down the hall, and I curled myself into a ball facing the wall. My hands were over my head which was tucked tightly against my knees which were drawn up to my chest. Without realizing it, I began to rock back and forth, and I heard a low moan surround me. I didn't know that the sound was coming from me.

The footsteps stopped outside the door, and I braced myself for the crashing of the door, the storming in of the officer, and the shouts and blows that would certainly accompany both. Instead, all I heard was a soft knock on the door and the doctor's quiet, gentle voice.

"Erik? May I come in?"

Unable to speak, I simply shook my head, not caring that he couldn't see me. I knew that he had at last had enough of me being a burden to him. He must have called the police to take me away so that Doctor Clark and Nurse Williams didn't have to bother with me anymore. I knew that the contentment and, yes, happiness that I had known the past week were too good to be true for the likes of me. My father had been right - no one could stomach having me around them. No matter where I went, people would always hurt me and shun me because of who and what I was.

I curled tighter into myself and rocked faster when I heard the door slowly creak open. My mind jumped back to the uncountable times our cabin door had sounded the same, and I knew that what awaited me now would be as bad, or worse, than when my father was the man coming through the door. I tried to get my mind to go away, as I had many times with my father, but the terror that filled it refused to be pushed aside. It stayed with me like a demon, taunting me with images of whips and chains and iron bars.

The hand on my shoulder caused me to jump, and a whimper escaped my lips. I clamped them shut immediately, knowing that any kind of sound only made things worse. This hand was not harsh, however, and as soon as I flinched, it was removed from my body. I waited for another, brutal touch, but there was nothing. I thought that it was a trick, something to get me to relax, but I wasn't going to fall for it. I was shocked, therefore, when I suddenly heard the doctor's voice next to my ear.

"Erik, my boy, don't be afraid. No one is going to hurt you. I promised you that no one would ever hurt you again" He continued to speak soothing words to me, and his voice was like cool, clear water flowing over my body, invading my senses, breaking down my defenses, calming the demon in my brain. I didn't jump when I again felt a hand on my shoulder, for this time, I was thinking clearly enough to know that it was Doctor Clark who was touching me and not the policeman. Even through my terror, I believed the doctor when he told me he would never hurt me. He had been nothing but kind to me, and he had done nothing to cause me not to trust him. As he gently rubbed my back, I slowly looked up at him, slipping my arms down to hug my knees.

He was kneeling next to me, and as I looked into his eyes, I saw emotions in them that I had only ever seen before in my mother's eyes. I read sadness and worry as well as helplessness. I wasn't sure what the doctor could feel helpless about, but I knew that look intimately. I glanced over his shoulder and saw Nurse Williams and the officer standing in the doorway. I shuddered violently and cringed away from him toward the wall, pulling ever tighter into myself as I tried to will myself out of that room and safely away from the man in the uniform.

"Erik? What is it?" Doctor Clark continued to caress my back gently with one hand.

"Don't…" I tried to speak, but the words stuck in my throat. My eyes involuntarily traveled back to the officer and stuck there.

"Don't what, Erik? Talk to me, please," the doctor said quietly as he looked over his shoulder at the man.

My eyes slowly came back to the doctor, and I locked gazes with him. My voice shook as I finally managed to whisper, "Don't let him take me away."

"Oh, dear God!" the doctor breathed as he drew me into his embrace. I leaned into his strong arms, and he gently held my head to his chest. He looked over his shoulder and said quietly, "Shirley, Robert, can you two wait downstairs for us, please? I need to talk to Erik alone."

There was no sound from either of them, but I heard the door shut quietly and footsteps recede down the hallway. As soon as they were gone, Doctor Clark pushed me away from him and gently took my chin in his hand. I tried to burrow back into his chest where I felt safe, but he held me back.

"Erik, we need to talk. I need to know what you are thinking right now, what you are feeling." His voice was still kind, but it was now firmer than it had been, and I knew I had to obey.

I took a shuddering breath and looked down at my hands, which were grasped together around my knees so tightly that the knuckles were white. Doctor Clark followed my gaze, and slowly pried my fingers apart. He turned me slightly so that he could kneel directly in front of me, and he held my hands tenderly in his. I continued to stare at our joined hands as I took another deep breath and began to talk, my voice never rising above a whisper and my eyes constantly flicking toward the door. I told him what my father had said about my crime of being born and about the police - that they punished criminals, and would take me away to a deep, dark cage and keep me there forever, away from people, alone with my hideousness for all eternity.

"Oh, Erik," the doctor sighed when I was done. I was startled by the sadness in those two simple words, and I looked up at him. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing heavily. When I said no more, he opened his eyes slowly, and the tears in them shook me to the core. I had never seen my father cry - I had rarely even seen my mother cry - and it felt wrong to be watching as a single tear traced its way down the doctor's cheek. I turned away from him, ashamed to see him in that state. My chest constricted uncomfortably, and I took deep breaths to try and release the pressure.

We stayed that way, neither saying a word or moving, for quite a while. Then Doctor Clark gently squeezed my hands and stood, pulling me up with him. "Erik, do you trust me?" His words were quiet but firm, as if he were trying to sooth a cornered animal. I looked at him and nodded, not trusting myself to speak anymore. "Then I want you to believe me when I say that Sheriff Butler is not here to hurt you or take you anywhere. As a matter of fact, he came to tell me some good news."

My brain didn't process his words at first, and I just blinked. After a short time, however, I began to think again, and I shook my head to try and banish the demon who continued to torment me by saying that Doctor Clark was lying, that he was just saying that to lower my defenses. "Good news, sir?" I was still whispering, fearful of attracting the attention of the officer downstairs.

"Wonderful news, Erik. After I discovered your parents gone, I immediately went to the sheriff and asked him if you could stay with me until they were found. He told me then that he would find out the legality of that, and he just called me to say that he had good news. I thought that you would want to hear it, too, so I invited him over." He told me all of this as he looked deeply in my eyes as if gauging my reaction as each word left his lips. I'm not sure what he saw, but he must have been encouraged because he continued. "Will you come down with me and hear what he has to say?"

Terror threatened to consume me at the thought of actually standing in front of the policeman, but I forcefully pushed it down until it was just a dull throb deep in the pit of my stomach. I told myself that I really did trust Doctor Clark, and he wouldn't let anything happen to me, and the thought that I could stay with him forever bolstered my courage somewhat. I nodded slowly, and his face instantly lit up with a bright smile. I could feel the corners of my mouth wanting to imitate him, but there was still a little bit of doubt that kept them in place. Nevertheless, I allowed him to lead me out of the library and down the stairs.

The sheriff and Nurse Williams were standing in the front room with their backs to the stairs, and I could tell that they were talking quietly with each other. My sharp hearing was able to pick out words even from the top of the stairs. "Erik...father...furious...killed." Already overactive, my imagination filled in the blanks, and I surmised that they were saying that my father was furious enough to kill me. I stayed behind Doctor Clark as we approached the officer, and, even though every fiber of my being was telling me to run, I forced myself to keep in place, my eyes fixed on the sheriff. He saw me looking at him and gave me a tentative smile, and, although I hadn't had a lot of time to get to know how to read other people, the smile seemed sincere.

"Robert, thanks for waiting. Let's go into my office." Doctor Clark held tightly to my hand as he motioned for the sheriff to precede us through the door to the left of the front room. He did so, and we followed.

In the room, there was the doctor's desk with his large, brown, leather chair behind it and two cushioned chairs in front of it, but no one sat down. The sheriff stopped just inside the room, and the doctor and I stood in front of him. Doctor Clark shut the door behind us, and a sudden feeling of being trapped overwhelmed me. I inhaled sharply and tried to pull away toward the door, but the doctor pulled me to him, never releasing my hand, and placed his free arm around my shoulder.

"It's okay, Erik, trust me," he whispered. To the sheriff, he asked, "So, Robert, what's the good news?"

Sheriff Robert Butler looked at me for a moment, the slight smile still on his face. Then he turned his gaze to Doctor Clark. "Well, Henry, I did as you asked. I called the state children's services department, and they said that you can take temporary guardianship of Erik until the whereabouts of his parents is determined." He turned back to me. "Erik, do you understand what that means?" I glanced at him nodded silently. I trusted Doctor Clark, but I did not trust the sheriff, and he saw that. His smile faded, but his voice remained kind. "It means that you can stay here with Doctor Clark until we find out what happened to your father and mother.

At the mention of my father, I involuntarily flinched and gripped Doctor Clark's hand a bit tighter. He responded by squeezing my shoulder. "It's all right, Erik. Remember, I told you I would never let him hurt you again. I promise you; I will do everything possible to make sure you never have to see him again."

I took a deep breath and relaxed my grip, but didn't let go. My eyes were on my feet now, and I only heard movement as the sheriff moved toward the door. "I'll keep you in the loop as far as the Taylors are concerened, Henry. I've got a number of contacts working to find them."

Doctor Clark released my hand, and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shake the sheriff's hand. "Thank you, Robert, I really appreciate it...we really appreciate it."

"Don't mention it. Let me know if you hear anything, too."

"I will."

I kept my gaze down until I heard the sheriff's footsteps leave the carpeted floor of the doctor's office, cross the wooden floor of the front office, and, accompanied by the bell above the door, leave the clinic. As soon as the front door closed, I risked raising my head. My throat was still constricted with fear, and I had to swallow several times before I could speak.

"Did he mean it, Doctor Clark? Can I really stay here with you?" I could only manage a whisper, but the doctor heard me clearly.

"Yes, Erik, you can stay. Even when we find your parents, I will make sure you never have to be around your father again."

"But," I stopped, not wanting to contradict him.

"But, what?" When I didn't answer, the doctor continued, You can ask me anything, Erik. Don;t be afraid."

I nodded and said, "What about my mother? Do I have to stay away from her, too?" The thought frightened me almost as much as the sheriff had.

"No, Erik, I will also make sure that you can be together."

My face brightened at this, and I smiled up at the doctor. He smiled back and again squeezed my shoulder.

"Come on," he said, leading me out the door, "I have something else I think you'll like."

As we walked, I wondered to myself what I had done to deserve such kindness in my life.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Doctor Clark led me into the kitchen at the back of the house. There was a small table with two chairs set in one corner of the room, and on it were numerous small books and papers. I looked at the doctor questioningly, but he said nothing as he led me to one of the chairs. I sat down and waited patiently as he took the other chair.

"Erik, I know how much you like the library, and I can tell by the way you look at the books that you wish you could read them. Am I right?"

"Oh, yes, sir," I breathed, "that would be fantastic! But..." I stopped and looked at my hands.

"But what, Erik?"

"But I know that I am too stupid to learn how to read," I said with deep regret, for I truly wished I could understand the markings in the books.

"Erik, who told you that?" The doctor's words were stern, but still understanding.

"My father," I said quietly.

"And what did I tell you about your father's view of you?"

My cheeks flushed, and I took a deep breath. "That he lied to me, and that what he said about me is not true."

"Then, do you think he was right about you not being able to learn to read?"

I thought about his question for a moment. My father had always told me that no one cared about me, but my mother, Doctor Clark, and Nurse Williams proved that he was wrong. He had said that the police would arrest me if I ever showed my face outside our house, but Sheriff Butler hadn't done that. As a matter of fact, I could admit to myself that he had been quite nice. I raised my eyes to Doctor Clark and saw that he was sitting forward in his chair with a look of expectation as he searched my face. I cocked my head to one side and answered his question with one of my own.

"Do you think I can, Doctor Clark?"

A broad smile crossed the doctor's face, and he reached forward to take my hands in his. "Erik, I think you can do anything you put your mind to. You simply have to believe you can."

I wasn't sure I believed that, but I could see that he did, and I nodded my head slowly. "But, how will I learn?"

The doctor dropped my hands and gestured to the items on the table. "I am going to teach you myself," he said simply. "I got these books and things from the school, and I talked to the teachers there. You obviously can't start kindergarten at your age, but they all agreed that you can be taught here for as long as necessary, and they will provide the materials."

At his words, a strange sensation spread through my body, and I suddenly had the feeling that my life was about to change dramatically. My lips slowly curled into a smile, and I said, "And will I be able to read the books in the library, the ones with the pictures?"

"And the ones with no pictures," the doctor replied with a laugh. "With those, you create your own pictures in your mind." He smiled and picked up a book from the pile. "But first, we must start at the beginning."

The next few hours were spent with Doctor Clark showing me the pictures and letters in the children's books he had borrowed from the school. He introduced me to the alphabet - the names of each letter and words that began with each. It was a lot of information to process, and I felt as stupid as my father had said I was as I struggled to remember what he was telling me. I wondered how very small children managed to understand all of this, and the knowledge that five-year-olds could master this material, when I was having trouble with it, discouraged me terribly. However, I continued to press on, and by the time we needed to start lunch, I thought that I had grasped most of what Doctor Clark had tried to teach me, but I still felt that I had not accomplished very much. I told the doctor this as we made two piles of the school materials and carried them up to my room.

He had been walking in front of me, but he stopped in his tracks halfway up the stairs and turned to look back at me incredulously. "Are you serious, Erik?"

"Yes, sir," I said bluntly. "I know that small children can read, and I have struggled so to understand what you have tried to teach me." I wanted to say that my father had been right, but I knew that the doctor would not like it, so I kept that thought to myself.

"Erik," he said as he continued up the stairs, "apparently you don't understand something."

I thought the statement was an obvious one. There were many things I didn't understand.

We had reached my room, and he placed his pile on top of the dresser and turned to me. "You have to understand that small children who start school in kindergarten usually take months and months to comprehend what you just learned in a few hours."

"Truly?" I was surprised at this news. I was sure that my attempts at learning had been pitiful, but if what he said was true, then perhaps my father was indeed wrong about my stupidity. "Then I did well today?"

Doctor Clark took the items from my arms and placed them next to the others. "Yes, Erik, you did very well. We will see how much you remember tomorrow, but for now, you can be very proud of yourself. I know that I am proud of you."

These words caused an unfamiliar, warm glow to spread through my body. I didn't know what it was, but I did know that if felt good, and I smiled. "Thank you, sir. I thought…"

"Thought what, Erik?" The doctor raised his eyebrows.

I didn't want to tell him about my fears, but I also couldn't lie to him, so I said, "I thought that I had not accomplished very much today, and I was afraid that what my father had said about me was true."

I was immediately sorry I had spoken, for the doctor's eyebrows came together, and he frowned. "No, Erik, he was not right. As a matter of fact, I think that, if our other sessions go as well as this one did, you will be reading in no time at all. And, if you can read, then you can learn anything you wish."

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, a smile spreading across my face. I thought of all the pictures I had seen in the library's books, and the idea that I could learn all about them by reading the words on the pages caused me to again have the strange, warm feeling. I stood for a moment, relishing that thought, and then I opened my eyes. Doctor Clark was smiling at me, and I said sincerely, "Then I will work hard and do my best to learn what you have to teach me."

The doctor grasped my shoulder lightly. I no longer flinched when I knew he was about to touch me, and I knew he was grateful for that. "That is all I can ask for, Erik," he said with a smile. "Now, let's go make lunch, shall we?"

* * *

I was surprised the next day, when we again sat down at the kitchen table, that I remembered everything that Doctor Clark had taught me the day before. Granted, it was only the alphabet, but, for someone who had been told his entire life that he was too dumb to learn anything, it was a joyous occasion. The doctor seemed as pleased as I, and he smiled brightly after we had gone through a set of flashcards with no mistakes on my part.

"Very good, Erik, I told you you could do it!"

I smiled back and asked, "So, what's next, sir?"

"Well, you have to know how each letter sounds, so that when you see them in a word, you can read it correctly."

The next three days were spent going over the sounds of the letters. I learned that, from the twenty-six letters, there were actually forty-four sounds, depending on how they were used in words. Doctor Clark started me out with a beginning phonics book which showed the basic sounds and how together, they made words. I quickly mastered it, however, and he pulled out the next book in the series. I devoured that book, as well, and very soon, he had to go back to the school for more complex books. He spent every free moment he had with me and the books. I, in turn, spent every free moment going over what he had taught me. This resulted in me being able to read simple children's books by the end of the first week of lessons.

A little less than three weeks after I arrived at the clinic, I was sitting on my bed, reading a picture book, when the doctor knocked softly on the open door. I looked up, and saw him standing there with a smile on his face. I put the book down on the nightstand and stood up.

"Did you need me, sir?" I asked.

"Yes, Erik, I did. I need you to come downstairs with me, please."

I nodded, noticing that my head no longer hurt when I did so, and followed him to the exam room where I had spent my first days. While my head no longer ached, my ribs still screamed at me if I turned the wrong way or tried to lift anything above my head. I had long been used to that pain, however, and it barely fazed me. Because of the injuries to my body, my torso was continually wrapped tightly with bandages, and I was severely restricted in what I was and was not allowed to do.

Doctor Clark had taken a full-body X-ray of me the first day I was able to stand up straight, and he then informed me that I had multiple broken ribs. He had expressed surprise that none of them had injured my internal organs, and he was also amazed that I had been able to even function through the pain he thought I must have been in. I had tried to explain to him that I was used to pain, and so had been able to ignore it for the most part, but he didn't seem to understand. He had also told me that he had seen numerous healed fractures in the X-ray, and he had asked if I had ever seen a doctor for them.

"No, sir," I had answered, "you are the first doctor I have ever been to."

This comment had caused anger to flare in the doctor's eyes, but by then, I had learned that I was not the object of that anger, my father was. He made no other comment, however, and life went on as usual.

My mind back in the present, I followed the doctor into the room, he motioned me to the exam table, and I sat down. This was a regular occurrence, as he often checked my ribs and face. Today, he gently palpated the skin around the healing wound on my head, and then did the same to my ribs, asking me how the pain was. I told him that my face only hurt a little, which was true, and that my ribs felt much better, which was not. They felt a little better, but not by much.

Doctor Clark had removed the stitches from my face about a week after my injury, but he had kept the bandages on since the cut had been so deep and extensive. He hadn't wanted to risk infection, even though, for the most part, the cut was sealed. I had yet to see my face, and I sincerely wanted to. I hadn't often seen it at home, for we didn't have a mirror, but that had been fine because my father had often told me how horrid it was, and I had no desire to gaze upon a monstrosity. Now, however. having learned to believe Doctor Clark when he said that I was a handsome boy, I had gotten used to looking in the mirror over my dresser as I brushed my hair and got myself ready in the morning. I had even begun to see the handsome young man my mother and the doctor had talked about in the unbandaged side of my face.

"Well, Erik, everything looks good. The cut has healed well, and there is still no infection" He stepped back and looked at me intently. "Would you like to see?"

I inhaled sharply, and immediately regretted it as pain stabbed into my side. I hid it well, however, and smiled as best I could. "Thank you, sir, I would like that very much."

"Good!" He took my hand and helped me off the table. We walked to the bathroom, and he waited behind me as I stood in the doorway, my eyes closed. I took a deep breath and took the last step to the sink, opening my eyes in the process.

The image in the mirror before me took my breath away. The right side of my face was as untouched and smooth as it had always been, but now it took on an unreal quality as the left side contrasted with it. A thick, slightly red scar ran from the hairline just above my temple, past the corner of my eye, and down across my cheek to the corner of my mouth. I had not been able to see out of my left eye because of the bandages, and now, I wished that were still the case. All of the self-confidence I had gained over the past few weeks evaporated in an instant as I gazed into the mirror. I felt the burn of unshed tears as I simply stood there, gripping the sink tightly until my knuckles turned white.

When I dropped my head, no longer able to stomach the image before me, I felt Doctor Clark's hands gently grip my shoulders.

"Erik, what are you thinking?" he asked softly.

I took a shaky breath and responded without moving, "I am thinking that I am as ugly as my father always said I was."

I heard him take a deep breath, and then I was being turned around and enveloped in his strong arms. "Oh, Erik," I heard him whisper, and then, for the first time in my memory, I felt a single tear escape my right eye and trace its way down my cheek until it was absorbed by his white doctor's coat. There was no movement or sound for a split second, and then it was as if a dam had broken, and all the pain, terror, shame, and humiliation of the past fourteen years gushed forth in a torrent of tears. I clutched at the doctor's coat as if it were the only thing keeping me from sinking into a black sea of despair. The sobs that were wrenched from my body weakened my body to the point that my legs could not support me anymore, and I felt them give way. Doctor Clark gently lowered me to the floor, never releasing his hold on me, and we sat there for an eternity while my whole world was condensed into a small, hard ball of disgust and hatred that settled itself deep in my belly.

Eventually, the tears stopped flowing, but it took longer for my heaving chest to relax into somewhat normal breathing. It was only then, however, that I realized that my head was pounding, and my ribs were screeching their disapproval at the punishment I had just put them through. The pain hit me so hard that I cried out and felt myself blacking out, and the last thing I remember was hearing Doctor Clark call out for the nurse before I fell headlong into a darkness blacker than the blackest moonless night, and deeper than the deepest ocean trench.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

It took about fifteen minutes for me to regain consciousness, and when I did, I found myself lying on the bed in the exam room. Doctor Clark and Nurse Williams were seated close by, watching me worriedly. I turned my head to look at them, and the doctor immediately jumped to his feet and hurried to the side of the bed. He placed his hand on my head and looked deeply into my eyes.

"Erik, can you hear me?" he said anxiously.

I simply nodded, my despondency and self-loathing robbing me of any desire to speak..

"How are you feeling?" he continued.

I shrugged my shoulders and turned my face away from him toward the wall. My head and sides still ached, but the pain had receded to the dull throbbing that I was intimately familiar with, and as such, I could ignore it.

"Do you want to talk?" he pressed.

I shook my head silently. He sighed, and, accompanied by the sound of soft, receding footsteps, he and the nurse left the room. They failed to close the door completely, and with my sharp hearing, I could easily make out their voices in the hallway.

"What do you think, Henry?" Nurse Williams asked quietly.

"I'm not sure. I wasn't expecting such a strong reaction from him, and I'm afraid that he will be unable to come to grips with the scarring. I am worried that he will once again begin to think his father was right about everything."

Their voices faded as they moved away from the door, and I lay there, staring at the wall, feeling as if I were being suffocated by the emotions racing through my brain. The demons that I had thought were gone had returned with a frenzy, and they taunted me with images of my father screaming at me about my ugliness, about my unworthiness to live. While my damaged face was covered with bandages, and I was able to look at the unblemished side of my face, I had begun to think of myself as, if not good-looking, at least decent. I had begun to believe that children wouldn't run and scream in fear when they saw my face. I had begun to understand that my father was a cruel, vindictive man who hated himself and the world, and used me as an outlet for that anger. Now, however, I knew that, even though my father had been wrong before, if he saw me now, he would have the right to say those things to me, for now they were true.

A foreign blurring was affecting my vision, and I became aware that tears were slowly trickling down my cheek and soaking into the pillow without my even noticing them. It seemed that since the barrier holding back my tears had now been removed, they found a clear path to freedom and easily took that path. The trickle did not increase, but it also did not slow, and I futilely tried to wipe them away. I didn't want to seem weak as well as hideous, for that was a recipe for persecution and terror. As that thought raced through my brain, it was as if it set off a firestorm of realization.

The tears slowed and then stopped, and I slowly sat up on the bed. I realized that there was little I could do about my face, but there was no reason for me to be weak. I had been weak my entire life, allowing my father to beat my mother and me, but that would no longer be the case. I felt the whirlwind of emotions inside of me harden into a core of steel deep in my soul. I would be strong and never allow anyone to hurt me ever again.

* * *

The days turned into weeks and the weeks to months with little variation. It only took a couple more weeks for my injuries to heal completely, and the bruises on my body faded so that the only evidence they had ever existed was branded in my memories. Along with the physical healing, the nutritious food the doctor fed me added weight to my frail frame. After I was up to a healthy weight, the doctor even had me start a muscle-building routine, and I slowly began to add strength and agility to my other newly-found physical improvements.

I spoke much less than I had before my face was revealed to me, but I was still polite to Doctor Clark and Nurse Williams. They had been too kind to me for it to be any other way. My politeness had a withdrawn quality to it, however, and I knew the doctor noticed it. I saw regret in his eyes with every "yes, sir," "please," and "thank you," and I understood it, for even I could hear the lack of enthusiasm that had been in my tone previously.

I continued with my studies with an ardor that surpassed even my previous excitement. I applied every free second to learning. This zeal quickly paid off, and I was soon reading quite well. I had devoured the beginning reading books from the school, and had moved on to simple chapter books, and from there, I could soon read anything from the doctor's library. By the time I had been at the doctor's house for a year, I was reading well above high school level writings. I read everything I could get my hands on - drama, science fiction, historical fiction, mythology, scientific papers, biographies, speeches, technical writings - and I remembered the vast majority of everything I read.

After my prowess at reading was realized, the doctor introduced me to mathematics. If it were possible, I enjoyed this even more than reading. Through reading, I could learn about history, science, economics, and any other subject I could find a book for, but with math, I was introduced to the beauty and logic of numbers. As I worked with the concepts of math, I was transported to a completely separate, peaceful place and time.

Although I could see that Doctor Clark was worried about my lack of social interaction, I could also see something in his eyes when I reached some new milestone in my studies, whether that was the first time I was able to read an entire book without help, or when I mastered the concepts of fractions and decimals. I didn't know what it was at first, but I realized it one day after I had asked him for a new math book, having finished the one I had.

"Erik," he had said, smiling, "I am so proud of you. You are progressing much faster than I would have ever thought possible. I'd even venture to say that you might be considered a genius."

Pride. That was what I had seen, but I hadn't recognized it because I had never seen it before. No one had ever expressed pride in me before, not even my mother, for while she may have felt it, she never would have ventured to let me know. As my knowledge of academics grew, so did the knowledge that my mother and I had been the victims of a cruel, evil, ignorant man, and that my mother had been right when she said that I was intelligent and talented. She had also called me beautiful, and that may have been true at one time, but every time I looked in a mirror, I knew it was no longer the case.

As time went on, the wound on my face became less and less red and inflamed, but, even when it was completely healed, the scar that remained was thick and white, and it pulled at the corners of my eye and mouth, distorting them. Because of this, I didn't like to brave the outside world. Doctor Clark tried to get me to come with him when he made trips to see patients, and one time, about a month after I was healed, I agreed.

The town of Willow was quite small, and when he visited patients in town, he walked, but there were numerous families living in the outlying areas, so, on this particular day, we got into his car for a three mile drive to see a boy who had fallen out of a tree and hurt his arm. I had never been in a car before, and at first, the experience was exhilarating. The rumbling sensation beneath me as the doctor started the engine, the smell of the leather seats, and the feel of the wind on my face as we drove were incredible. Doctor Clark had taught me to understand time and the calendar, so I knew that it was July 1st. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and the car windows were down, allowing the flower-scented air to fill the car. The drive was far too short for my liking, but I turned to Doctor Clark with a smile - the first to grace my face since the bandages had come off.

Doctor Clark pulled into the driveway of the small, white, clapboard house, turned off the car, and smiled back. "Do you want to come inside with me, Erik?" he asked.

My smile faded slightly, for, other than Nurse Williams and him, no one else had seen my face since my injury. I quickly decided that I wasn't ready to meet new people yet, and I answered, "If it's all right with you, sir, I'd rather wait here."

He nodded with understanding, and laying his hand gently on my shoulder, he got out of the car and walked to the house. I watched him until the door was opened and he went inside, and then I turned my attention to my surroundings. I sat in the car, looking out the window at the maple trees surrounding the house. I could hear insects buzzing in the air, and, off in the distance, the sound of a dog's incessant barking. I didn't see any people around, and I suddenly longed to be outside, free to move and breathe the fresh, summer air, so I opened the car door and stepped out. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, reveling in the newness of the sensations bombarding me. At the house I was born in, I was never allowed outside, although I did risk it occasionally. Even when I did, the odors that surrounded me were of rotting garbage, stagnant mud, and the stench from the outhouse. Inside the house was no better. Unwashed bodies and clothes let off their own foul smells, and those, coupled with the omnipresent, burning tang of alcohol and the sour smell of cabbage soup, created such a pungency that I was now surprised I was not sick very often while living there. I had never known before how much fresh air and fresh scents could contribute to one's health..

My eyes popped open in horror at the sound of a shrill scream almost directly in front of me, and I sucked in a harsh breath and held it. Standing in front of me was a small girl, perhaps six or seven years old. She was dressed in a light blue dress, her blonde hair was pulled back into two ponytails tied with matching blue ribbons, and her feet were bare. I think she would have been a beautiful little girl normally, but at the moment, her face was contorted with such terror and revulsion, that she looked like someone's strange idea of a caricature of a child. The scream continued at full volume, and the door of the house slammed open. The doctor and a young woman were standing on the porch, frozen for a split second at the scene before their eyes. As the child continued her howling, though, the spell holding them was quickly broken, and they both hurried down the porch steps toward us.

Their movement released my own feet from their stupor, and I tried to back away from the girl, but within one step, I found myself trapped against the side of the car. I looked toward the two adults running toward me, and I panicked. I bolted away from them, tearing across the yard before disappearing into the woods surrounding the house.

"Erik, stop! Come back, please!"

I barely registered the doctor's voice as my own terror began to swell within me, robbing me of all rational thought. I fled blindly through the woods, hands covering my head to protect it from the branches whipping me at every step. Roots tripped me up frequently, but I merely raised myself up and continued my frenzied flight. As I ran, I could hear my father's voice inside my head, sneering, "They'll come for you now, boy! That little girl will tell them what a monster you are, and they'll hunt you down and kill you!"

I continued to run until I could barely breathe, and my muscles screamed their protest at the punishment I was putting them through. I collapsed onto the forest floor, sucking shallow, rapid breaths into lungs that were spasming in their frantic effort to supply my brain and body with the oxygen needed to function. I tried to push myself up into a sitting position, but my arms and legs refused to respond to my wishes. An eternity of agonizing pain later, my breathing slowed, and I was able to take deeper, more oxygen-rich breaths, which, in turn, allowed my brain to function more normally. I sat up and leaned against a nearby tree before looking around me. All I could see were trees. Thousands and thousands of trees with no break no matter which way I turned. I could feel the panic begin to rise in me again, and I staggered to my feet, turning in circles, eyes wildly searching for something other than trunks and leaves. After a lifetime, I sank down to the ground and dropped my head into my hands, tears streaming down my face as the reality of my situation dawned on me. I was lost.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

"Erik, stop! Come back, please!"

Henry Clark cried out to the boy who had bolted into the woods. Erik paid him no mind and was soon lost to view amid the large trunks of the maple and oak forest and the bushes that grew between them. Henry hesitated in indecision, for seven-year-old Sandy Johnson was still screeching at the top of her lungs, completely ignoring her mother's comforting words and gestures. He looked at Hillary Johnson, who was holding her daughter to her chest in an attempt to quiet the hysteria. She looked back at him with understanding and nodded her head.

"She'll be just fine, Henry. Go after him," she said kindly.

He nodded his thanks and entered the forest in the direction he had seen Erik flee.

"Erik!" he called, moving as quickly as possible. "Erik, it's Doctor Clark! Where are you?"

He paused in his calls, listening for any response, but the only sounds were the wind in the trees and the occasional bird or squirrel talking to others of its kind. He sighed and continued forward for a short while before stopping, afraid that he might get lost if he kept going with no plan. He had hoped that Erik had simply run until he was out of sight and was hiding behind a tree or bush, but, the longer Henry called, the more convinced he became that Erik was not only out of sight, but also out of hearing. A sharp fear filled the doctor as he thought about the boy being alone in the forest as night fell. There were only about two hours until that happened. It was July in Tennessee, so there was practically no chance of Erik succumbing to cold temperatures, but earlier in the day, dark, gray clouds had started forming on the horizon, and Henry was afraid that it was going to rain soon. If that happened while Erik was still in the forest, there was a strong possibility that he would become sick, since he was still recovering from his recent injury.

Returning to the Johnsons' house, Henry was pleased to see that little Sandy had calmed down, although she was still sticking close to her mother. He smiled and crouched down in front of her.

"Are you all right, sweetheart?" he asked softly.

She nodded her head, but her eyes dropped to the ground, as if in shame. "Yes, sir," she whispered.

Henry reached one hand out and gently took her chin and drew her eyes to his. "What's the matter?" he asked.

Her eyes glanced up at her mother, and Henry's eyes followed her gaze. He saw a stern look on Hillary's face, and he knew that Sandy had had a talking to. The little girl looked back at the doctor, and he could see tears forming.

"I didn't mean to make him run away, honest!" she said. "I was just scared, that's all. I thought he was a monster, but Mama told me that he was just a boy who got hurt, and that I shouldn't have screamed. I'm supposed to apologize to him. Do you think he'll let me?" The little girl's eyes were so sincere and repentant that Henry felt a little sorry for her.

He stroked her blonde hair and smiled. "I'm sure he will, sweetheart," he said, "but we have to find him first."

Sandy's eyes widened, and she gasped, an echo of the sound that came from her mother. "Is he lost in the woods?"

"I don't know if he's lost, but I do know that he's not coming out just now." He chuckled, trying to sooth the fear he saw on the girl's face. "I think you scared him more than he scared you." He was happy to see the small smile on Sandy's face at that comment, but he knew that Erik had not run from the girl; he had run from the adults. Henry was almost positive that Erik thought he had done something wrong, and he wanted to find him before he gave into listening to the demons he knew were taunting the boy, telling him that his father had been right – he was a monster, and the little girl's screams had only proven that.

"Oh, Doctor Clark," Hillary said breathlessly, "we must find him." She looked up at the sky, and Henry saw that the dark clouds were indeed filling the sky, signaling the storm that was inevitably coming. "He can't stay out there when the rain comes!"

"I know," Henry replied, concern filling his voice, "but I don't know how to find him. If he's as frightened as I think he is, I'm worried that he will hide from anyone who tries to find him – even me." He wrinkled his brow and frowned as he thought desperately for a solution to this problem.

"Well, I can send Sandy to get the neighbors together, and we can search for him. If enough people look, he might not be able to hide from them all."

Henry paused, uneasy with the thought of a large number of people combing the woods for Erik. He was worried that it would traumatize the boy even more than he already was, but with the incoming storm, it would have to be risked. He nodded reluctantly and said, "You're right. Let's do it."

Hillary Johnson was only twenty-four years old, but she had a good head on her shoulders. She bent down and told Sandy to run and find as many neighbors as she could and to tell them that there was a boy lost in the woods. The little girl went quickly to the houses on the street, and within fifteen minutes, there were eight men and teenaged boys surrounding Henry.

"Okay," he began, looking around with gratitude at his friends and neighbors, "you must understand that Erik trusts no one except me, and I doubt he'll even trust me completely right now. He's had a horrific life, and he is scared right now. I'd like to comb the woods in a line, but please, let me call out for him. If he hears any other voice, especially a male one, I'm afraid he'll run deeper into the woods and be lost for good. Are we agreed?"

A chorus of agreement rippled through the group, and they quickly formed into a line with about five feet between people. Henry led them into the forest in the direction he had seen Erik run, and he began to call for the boy. "Erik? It's Doctor Clark! It's all right to come out; you're not in any trouble! Please come out!" They continued forward, everyone searching the bushes as they pushed through, looking behind trees and even up into the branches. The farther into the forest they got, the more concern Henry felt, but he told himself that he wouldn't give up until Erik was found.

* * *

I was still sitting at the base of a tree, arms around my shins and head on my knees. I had no idea how long I'd been there, conscious of nothing except the self-loathing and terror that overwhelmed everything. The self-loathing came from the knowledge that I was still weak, still able to be brought to tears at the fate before me. I had promised myself that I would be strong, but my present condition proved that I was still a pitiful wretch. The terror that filled me was because I was alone, lost in the forest, without food or water, and, quite possibly, hunted by people searching just waiting to hurt me for being the monster that I was, for frightening that little girl with nothing but my face. I was very familiar with this type of terror – I had felt it often when my father was in one of his rages – and now, as then, I tried to block out everything around me and escape into my mind. I sat there, trying to think of anything but the fear, but it was all-consuming, and images of men dragging me off to some unknown location, kicking and hitting me, filled my brain in vivid, horrific detail. I saw cages and shackles, whips and fists, boots and belts as clearly as if they were right in front of me. The longer I sat, the more I imagined, and the more I imagined, the more terrified I became until at last, I simply began to rock back and forth, whimpering like a dog that had been kicked far too many times. I heard nothing of the forest sounds around me, saw nothing of the tree trunks and bushes that were everywhere, and felt nothing of the wind that was rapidly cooling and growing stronger.

Suddenly, my head snapped up, and the rocking stopped abruptly. I didn't know at first what had happened, and I slowly, silently got to my feet and braced my back against the tree trunk, eyes wide and searching, ears pricked and listening, as a rabbit's are when there is a weasel or a hawk nearby. I barely dared to breathe as I strained my senses for the source of my alertness. My ears heard it first, hearing being my most highly developed sense – a cracking and snapping of twigs, accompanied by heavy footsteps on the forest floor. I felt panic bubble up inside of me, but I forced myself to listen, to determine from where the sound was coming. It was off to my right, but coming straight for me. I looked around frantically for a place to hide, but I saw nothing. I decided that my best chance was to stay ahead of the people coming for me, and I cautiously began moving to my left, trying to make no sound as I listened carefully for any change in the sound of my pursuers.

Then I heard Doctor Clark's voice, closer than I had thought it would be, "Erik! Please come out! You're not in any trouble! Erik!"

I stopped behind a tree trunk, indecisive, and warring thoughts clashed in my brain. On the one hand, I was still terrified of being caught and punished for what I had done, but on the other, I trusted the doctor, and I didn't think he would lie to me or hurt me. I struggled within myself briefly, and I came to the decision to go to him. I stepped out from behind the tree and started to walk toward his voice, but then I heard a man's voice, one I did not recognize, and I froze in alarm.

"Henry," this new voice said, "we've got to turn back. The storm is going to be here soon, and we can't be out here in the woods when it comes."

Instantly, there were echoes of the man's sentiment, and, from the sound of it, there were at least half a dozen other men with the doctor. The terror returned with a vengeance, and though I still trusted the doctor, it was not enough now to overcome my fear of the other men. I could tell they were not moving toward me anymore, so I ducked behind another tree, but I still listened carefully.

"No, William, I will not abandon him! I am all he has, and I will not leave until he's found!" Doctor Clark's tone was angry, but the men stood their ground.

"Then you can stay out here and look for him," the first voice replied, "but we're going back. If he's as smart as you say, he'll find cover. We'll search again after the storm, I promise."

I looked up at the sky, seeing very little of it through the dense foliage, and I suddenly realized how dark it had gotten. For the first time, I was aware of the wind as it whipped past me, the promise of a heavy rain in its chill breath. Even as I stood there, rooted to the spot in my fear, I felt the first drops begin to fall.

"Here it is, Henry, let's go!" the man said urgently. "There's no sense in both of you getting lost out here!"

I heard the sound of the men rapidly retreating the way they had come, and then there was the sound of the doctor calling out desperately, "Erik! Please! Where are you?"

"Henry! Come on!" The man's voice was farther away, but it was fading.

A strangled cry filtered through the trees, and then I heard the doctor's footsteps recede as he followed the men back. He was almost out of earshot when an idea popped into my brain. I could at least follow them to the edge of the forest, and then I would no longer be lost. I could decide what to do then. I quickly, but still silently, ran behind the doctor. I had honed the skill of being unobserved early on in my life, for often, if my father didn't notice me in his drunken state, he would leave me alone. It was when he laid eyes on me or heard me that his rage bubbled over and the beatings began. Because of this, I learned to be invisible and silent. This helped me now as I stuck to the trail of the men before me. It didn't hurt that the wind had picked up to the point that all sound was muted, and once, I was afraid that I had lost the trail, but then I saw a flash of movement in front of me. The rain was falling faster, and I risked picking up my speed until I could see the person in front of me clearly. I kept hidden behind trees even as I ran, but I could see that it was the doctor. He was moving hurriedly, but he still glanced around him, trying to see into the trees through the rain. I almost caught up to him, but then I saw the forms of the other men not far in front of him. This caused me to back off just enough that none would see me as they unwittingly led me out of the woods.

When we reached the edge, I stopped behind a large maple tree and peered out at the scene before me. The rain was falling in sheets, and everyone was soaked to the skin. We were back in the Johnson's yard, and the men quickly parted ways, but not before patting Doctor Clark on the back and giving him looks of understanding and compassion. I could not hear their words over the storm, but I saw him hang his head as he stood in the middle of the yard. He stayed there until the last of the men departed, and I was just about to step out and announce myself when the door of the house opened. Through the rain I could see Mrs. Johnson and her little girl framed in the doorway, and although I could not make out what she said, it must have been words to invite the doctor to come in out of the rain, for he raised his head slowly and began walking in that direction. He stopped on the front step of the porch and looked back toward my hiding spot for a moment before following her inside.

I waited for a moment until I was sure that no one else was around, and then I quickly and quietly made my way to the doctor's car. I gently opened the back door and slipped inside. The interior was warm and dry, and I knew that Doctor Clark kept a few blankets in there for when he had to warm someone up quickly. I had learned from watching the doctor that wet clothes would only keep me cold, so I took off my shoes, socks, pants, and shirt, grabbed the blankets, and wrapped them around myself before lying down on the seat. I was shivering slightly, and the storm cause a cacophony of rain and wind around the car, but exhaustion quickly overtook me, and I crashed down into a black, dream-filled sleep.

* * *

When I awoke sometime later, I found that the storm had not abated at all. I was reasonably dry, and when I reached for my clothes, found that they were only damp. Not wanting the doctor to find me in a state of undress, I put them back on and huddled within the blankets. I sat in the car, looking out the windows as the rain continued to pour from the sky. The terror that had filled me while in the forest was mostly gone now, and I stared placidly at the water pounding against the panes of glass. My mind went back to the last day I was with my parents, and I remembered the water surrounding me after my father smashed me with the jar. I recalled the feelings I'd had that day and compared them with the feeling I'd had in the forest. They were the same – fear, helplessness, weakness – all the things I had told myself I would never allow myself to feel again. I was disgusted with myself for succumbing to them, and I silently chastised myself as I sat, watching the rain fall. It must have been about half an hour later when the rain stopped, almost as quickly as it had begun.

My eyes closed as I tried to work up the courage to get out of the car and walk to the house to let the doctor know I was all right. I told myself that he would never hurt me or let anyone else hurt me, and that I would no longer be afraid. I had managed to convince myself of this enough to exit the car, but I had only just closed the door when Doctor Clark appeared on the porch of the house, Mrs. Johnson not far behind him. My initial reaction was to freeze, my hand on the door handle, my feet ready to flee back into the forest, but then I remembered my resolve to not give into fear, and I let go of the handle, stood up straight, and just stared at the doctor. What he did next astonished me completely.

He let out a joyous shout and rushed down the porch steps before crashing into me, wrapping his arms around me and laughing. "Oh, Erik," he cried, "I was so worried!" He held onto me tightly and didn't seem to notice that I didn't return the hug. My arms stayed at my sides, and I simply stood there, unmoving. He pulled back and held onto my arms while he looked into my face. He must not have liked what he saw there, because he frowned deeply and said, "Erik, are you feeling okay?"

"I'm feeling fine, Doctor Clark," I responded, satisfied with the unemotional tone I had adopted. I looked at him and continued, "I'm sorry I made you worry. I got scared, but it won't ever happen again, I promise."

"It's all right, Erik, I understand," he said. Then he seemed to realize that I was not soaking wet, and he asked, "What happened to you? Where were you all this time?"

I still hadn't moved, but I answered, "In the woods. I heard you and…" I paused to push down the pungent fear that threatened to well up at the thought of the other men, "…and the other people, but I didn't trust them, so I followed you back here. I didn't want to expose the little girl to my hideousness again, so I waited in the car."

The last comment was only partially true, but I didn't want to admit to him or to myself that I was afraid that she would start screaming again if she saw me. I glanced over his shoulder at the house and saw Mrs. Johnson standing in the doorway, one hand on the little girl's shoulder. I suppressed a shudder as I turned my face away from them so that they couldn't see the left side.

"If it's all right with you, Doctor Clark, I'd really like to leave now," I said, dropping my voice to a near-whisper.

"Of course, Erik," he said softly. "Why don't you get in the car and let me say goodbye to Mrs. Johnson?"

I nodded and climbed in the front seat while he walked back to the house. I kept my face turned away from them, but I could hear bits and pieces of what he said to her. He apparently told her thank you and asked if she would inform the men who helped search that I was found safe and sound. I snorted derisively at that last comment. I may have been safe, but I was far from sound. I could feel the war within myself as my weak, fearful nature tried to overtake my new determination to be strong. I didn't speak as the doctor got into the car and drove away, but I did turn my head so that I was looking out the front windshield. I stayed silent the entire trip back home, and when we got inside, I was about to head up the stairs when I felt the doctor's hand on my shoulder. I turned to see the frown back on his face as he looked at me with concern.

"Erik, I think we need to talk," he said simply.

"If it's all the same to you, Doctor Clark, I really don't feel like talking right now," I responded rather coldly. A pang of regret hit me when I saw the frown deepen. I didn't want to be callous toward the only man who had ever been kind to me, but I was determined not to show him the battle that was raging within me at the moment.

He said nothing for a moment, and then he dropped his hand and nodded. "Okay, Erik, we don't need to talk right now, but we will talk later," he said sternly. "Do you understand me?"

I simply nodded and turned my back on him to walk up the stairs. At the landing, I paused, unsure of where I wanted to go. The library beckoned me like an irresistible siren of old, and my feet brought me to its comforting interior. I stood by the leather armchair and closed my eyes, inhaling the unique scent of the room, and then I sat down and rested my head against the back of the chair. I didn't feel like reading, so I simply sat there, letting the peacefulness of the room fill me, allowing the turbulent emotions raging through me to settle into an uneasy, roiling pool deep in the pit of my stomach.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

I must have dozed off, for the next thing I knew was the touch of Doctor Clark's hand on my arm. I bolted upright in the chair, eyes wide and breath short and harsh. My gaze frantically flicked back and forth around the room until it landed on the doctor, and I realized where I was. I relaxed a bit, and as my breathing returned to normal, he gave me a small, sad smile before moving to the second chair in the room.

This was just a wooden, slat-backed chair from the kitchen, but Doctor Clark had brought it up to the library so that the two of us could sit and read together. I was always the one who sat in it when we were both in the room, so, before he reached it, I began to stand up in order to give him my seat, but he gently laid his hand on my shoulder and pushed me back down.

"It's all right, Erik, you can stay there." He smiled again as he pulled the chair close so that when he sat down our knees were almost touching. "I'm not so old that I can't sit on a wooden chair for a while."

I didn't speak, but only nodded and settled myself back in the armchair, but I knew that he wanted to talk about what happened, and so I sat up straight, my hands on my knees. The doctor reached over and took my hands in his and lightly squeezed them.

"Are you ready to talk, Erik?" he asked softly.

I cocked my head slightly and looked at him as I thought about the answer to that question. I knew that I could talk about what had happened, but I certainly didn't want to. I felt bad about the way I had treated the doctor, however, and so I gave him a slight nod, took a deep breath, and released it slowly. My lips opened with every intention of sound coming from them, but there was nothing. It was if the words were stuck in my brain and refused to let themselves be known. I closed my mouth, frowned deeply, cleared my throat, and tried again.

"I…I scared that little girl," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper, and those simple words broke the dam holding back my thoughts. I suddenly began to babble, my voice rising with every word, and my eyes going wide. "I didn't mean to, Doctor Clark, honest! I was just standing there, and then she screamed, and then you came out, and then I was running, and then those men came, and…"

"Erik, slow down," Doctor Clark spoke softly, but his words penetrated the panic that was once again welling up inside of me. He squeezed my hands again and said, "Breathe, Erik, deep breaths. Calm your breathing; that's it. Deep breaths – in and out, in and out."

I stared at him while I did as he asked, inwardly hating myself for giving in to the fear again, but being unable to stop it. The memory of those men coming after me, even though Doctor Clark had been there, reminded me too much of my father's footsteps closing in on me, which had always resulted in pain or humiliation. I felt myself relax, however, as the doctor's deep breathing exercise slowed my heart rate and allowed me to think clearly.

When it seemed I was calm, the doctor said, "Now, I want you to listen to me very carefully, Erik, and I need you to believe what I'm telling you." He paused and looked into my eyes until I nodded. "You did nothing wrong today. Sandy was scared, yes, but it was not your fault. She is just a little girl, and she didn't understand what she was seeing. Once her mother calmed her down and explained what happened to you, she was very sorry for her reaction." My head had dropped as he spoke, and he reached one hand to my chin and raised my eyes to his. "Do you understand what I'm saying, Erik? Nothing that happened today was your fault."

I silently looked at him for a moment, and then I slowly stood up, pulling my hand from his. I walked to a shelf and softly ran my fingers along the spines of the book, letting them trace the contours as I traversed the length of the room. I thought about what he had just said, and I knew he believed what he was saying, but by the time I got to the corner, a conclusion had formed in my mind. I slowly turned around and dropped my hand to my side. My brow was furrowed in intense concentration, and I knew that I was frowning. I looked at Doctor Clark and battled with myself about whether to voice my thoughts.

He must have seen something of this struggle in my face because he stayed where he was and quietly stated, "Erik, what are you thinking? You know you can tell me anything, right?"

I nodded, and the battle was decided. My eyes never left his as I responded, "I do understand what you're saying, Doctor Clark, and I know that I didn't do anything to cause that girl's reaction, but what I don't think you understand is that it doesn't matter." I saw confusion cross the doctor's face, but he didn't speak. "What I mean is, it doesn't matter that I didn't physically do anything to scare her; just being me was enough. She saw my face and was terrified. You keep telling me that I am not a monster, but you are wrong. I may not be a monster on the inside like my father, but I am on the outside. That little girl proved it."

There was no emotion in my words as I spoke, and I was glad for that. The panic that had threatened to overtake me earlier had been pushed to the back of my mind, and it was replaced with a numbness.

"Erik…" the doctor began, but I interrupted him.

"No, Doctor, please don't try to tell me I'm wrong. I know I'm right, and I also know there is nothing I can do about it, so I have decided that I simply won't interact with people anymore. I don't want to be the reason for their terror, unintended or not, and so I will not subject them to the sight of me."

"Erik," Doctor Clark said, standing and walking to me, "that is not the solution. I have told most of the residents of Willow about you and about your injury." I frowned deeply at that, for I felt uncomfortable with the thought that my childhood was an open book for the people around me. He must have realized this because he hastily continued, "No, Erik, no one knows exactly how it happened. I would never tell anyone that without your permission. They simply know that you were severely cut, and it left bad scarring. They understand and will not be afraid of you or hate you because of something you had no control over."

I desperately wanted to believe him, but I couldn't. The little girl's reaction was still too fresh in my mind. As I looked at the concern in the doctor's eyes, however, I knew that I couldn't cause him any more grief. I didn't want to lie and tell him that he was right, so I simply said, "I don't think you're right, Doctor Clark, but I will try. I guess we'll see which of us is right." I was about to say more when we heard the bell above the front door ding and Nurse Williams' voice. My sharp ears picked up every word.

"Samantha, how nice to see you. How is Timothy's arm?"

"It's just fine, Shirley, thank you. Doctor Clark said it was just a sprain. He'll be in a sling for a little while, but that's all."

"I am so glad to hear that. Are you here to see Doctor Clark?"

"No." There was a slight pause. "We are here to see Erik."

At those words, the fear that I was so fiercely trying to bury forever attempted to submerge me in its blackness again, but I fought it back and locked it away in a remote corner of my mind. I was unable to completely ignore the persistent tapping as it fought to get free, though. As I stood there, fighting my inner war, the doctor put his hand on my shoulder.

"Stay here, Erik," he said quickly. "I'll see what they want." He didn't wait for my response but swiftly left the room. I heard his footsteps as he walked down the stairs, and then I heard his voice.

"Mrs. Thompson, how may I help you? Is Timothy doing okay?"

"Yes, Doctor Clark, thank you, he's doing just fine. We're here for a different reason. Sandy feels very bad about what happened earlier, and she'd like to apologize to Erik."

"Um," the doctor hesitated for a moment, but then he spoke again. "All right, I'll go get him."

I heard his returning footsteps, and he appeared in the doorway. He was about to speak, but I spoke first.

"I heard," I said flatly. "I suppose this is the first test, isn't it, Doctor?"

The frown that crossed his face sent a brief wave of remorse through me. I truly didn't want to sound cold when I talked to him, but I knew that if I didn't build up my defenses now, I would fall apart once I went downstairs.

"Erik," he said worriedly, "you don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"You're wrong," I said shortly as I passed him and walked to the door, my back straight, and my steps firm, "I do. Have to, that is. You said yourself that they will understand and accept me. Let's see if you are correct, shall we?"

I heard him sigh as I walked down the hall. He shut the door behind him and placed his hand on my shoulder as we went downstairs. At the bottom of the steps, he moved next to me and dropped his hand to my back. I wasn't sure if he was trying to comfort me or encourage me, but at that moment, I needed neither. I was not scared of what might happen, and I was determined to show him that I was right, that no one could accept me as I was.

Mrs. Johnson and Sandy were standing by Nurse Williams' desk, and at the sound of our footsteps, they had turned toward us. I felt a perverse sense of validation when I saw the woman's eyes go wide as she saw me and heard her inhale sharply. Sandy had tried to duck behind her mother, but Mrs. Johnson's hand held her tightly to her side. I gave them credit, though, for no other sound escaped them, and we stopped just a few feet in front of them.

We stood for a moment, staring at each other, and then Doctor Clark moved between us and said, "Erik, this is Mrs. Johnson and her daughter Sandy. Mrs. Johnson, Sandy, this is Erik Taylor."

The initial shock had worn off for the most part, and the woman stuck out her hand. "It's nice to meet you, Erik," she said kindly, but I could still hear a slight waver in her voice. I took her hand graciously, however, and shook it.

"Nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Johnson. I'm sorry about what happened earlier." My words were polite and sincere, but there was an underlying coldness to them, and I saw her frown slightly.

"No, Erik, you don't have anything to be sorry about. My daughter, however, does." She pushed Sandy forward slightly, and I saw fear on the little girl's face again. It wasn't the terror I had seen earlier, but she was definitely scared. "Go on, Sandy," her mother instructed.

The little girl swallowed and looked up at me, her hands clasped tightly behind her back. "I'm sorry I screamed," she said in a small voice that tore a tiny hole in the veil of indifference I was attempting to place around myself. A tear escaped her eye and trickled down her cheek, but she made no move to wipe it away. "Mama told me that you got hurt, and that you were just a nice boy, and that I shouldn't have gotten scared, so I wanted to say I was sorry."

I wasn't sure if the tear came from her fear or her shame, but I told myself that it didn't matter to me. I swiftly mended the hole she had caused and stared down at her. "Don't be sorry," I responded without feeling. "I understand." I didn't want to elaborate any further about what I understood, and so I left it there, and Sandy dropped her head and looked at the floor.

There was an awkward silence, and then Mrs. Johnson spoke again. "Erik, I want you to know that you are always welcome at our house. Please don't let what happened keep us from becoming friends." Her words sounded sincere, but I was unable to completely accept them as such. Her first response to the sight of my face was too firmly embedded in my mind to be ignored. I nodded, however, and tried to smile.

"Thank you, Mrs. Johnson; I'll remember that."

To me, her words and answering smile seemed just as forced as mine felt, and then she took a step toward the door, pushing Sandy in front of her. "Good," she said a little too quickly. "I hope to see you soon, then." I thought I heard a sigh of relief as they exited the clinic, but I wasn't sure.

I turned back toward Doctor Clark and saw that he was not smiling. In fact, he looked worried and a little angry. I didn't know what he was angry about, but I didn't care. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nurse Williams move toward me, her hand up as if to comfort me, but my next words to the doctor stopped her.

"I told you."

The doctor's brows came together, and he stared at me intently. "Told me what, Erik?"

I let out a short, harsh laugh. "Oh, please!" I rasped out. "You can't tell me you didn't see the fear in that little girl's eyes. Or the shock in the mother's when she saw me. They were scared of me. They were scared of this!" My left hand gestured at my face sharply, and I grew angry myself. "Now, if you don't mind, Doctor, I'd like to go to my room." My voice had grown cold again, and I felt a slight twinge of contrition at the pain I saw cross the doctor's face, but I steeled myself against what I was beginning to think of as weak feelings.

"Erik…" the doctor began, but then he stopped and seemed to reconsider. He sighed deeply and said, "Go ahead."

I nodded curtly and ascended the stairs. At my bedroom door, before I opened it, I paused with my hand on the knob when I heard the nurse's voice.

"He isn't wrong, Henry."

Another sigh drifted up the stairs. "I know, Shirley. That's why I'm angry. I truly thought people would accept him if they knew what had happened. Am I really that naïve? I mean, we accept him – we love him."

"I know, but we've also known him longer. Perhaps he just needs to get out and meet people – let them get to know the kind, gentle, brilliant boy that he is. We know that boy, but no one else does."

_You are wrong about that_, I thought as I quietly opened the door, slipped into my room, and just as quietly shut it. _My mother knows, but she's gone. She proved that even love isn't enough for anyone to stay with me. If it was, she never would have left._

I sat on my bed and picked up one of the books that now covered my nightstand. I opened it and stared at the page, registering nothing as that last thought raced around my brain. I knew that my mother had loved me, but she had left anyway. Doctor Clark and Nurse Williams said they loved me, so did that mean that they would leave someday, too? The demons that never left me cruelly whispered the answer – _Yes!_

* * *

The days following my flight into the woods flowed into each other without much deviation. I woke up and began my studies while Doctor Clark tended to his patients. I kept myself out of sight, either in the kitchen, my bedroom, or the library. At lunchtime, Nurse Williams went home, and the doctor joined me in the kitchen. During the meal, he tried to talk me into going somewhere – to the park, to the store, to the library – and I adamantly refused every time. I told him that I had no desire to play, needed to buy nothing, and that there were plenty of books upstairs. I didn't want or need to go anywhere around people. The backyard of the house butted up to the woods, however, and, after about half an hour, the nurse came back, they went back to work, and I slipped out the back door, usually carrying a pencil and a pad of paper with me.

No one ever came around the back of the house, and I had discovered that I enjoyed drawing. I sat on the back porch and sketched the forest, the birds, the flowers, or I walked into the woods a short way and drew the squirrels, rabbits, and clearings. I felt safe back there, and I let myself relax as my pencil flew across the paper. I didn't think I was very good, but it felt nice to let the constant inner struggle go for a short while, to let myself feel content, happy even.

After hours outside, I went back to the house in time for dinner. Doctor Clark would ask me about my activities in the woods. He knew I drew, and the first time I showed him my creations, he had praised them liberally. I thought he was just being kind. I spoke to him with polite, but short answers, and I knew he wanted more information from me, but I didn't feel like opening up to him. I knew that my situation at the clinic was temporary, and I refused to let myself get too content, only to have it ripped away from me later. When dinner was finished, he helped me with some of the more difficult concepts I was learning, and then we went to bed.

This was how our days went until July 12, 1936, my fifteenth birthday. When I came in for dinner, my sketchbook filled with six more drawings than when I had left, I stopped in the back doorway, shocked. Doctor Clark and Nurse Williams were standing by the table which was covered with a bright red tablecloth. On the cloth were two presents wrapped in colorful paper. Next to them was a cake with white frosting and fifteen candles, plates, and forks.

"Happy birthday, Erik!"

I slowly walked into the house and set my pad and pencil down on the counter. I looked at Doctor Clark in confusion. "What is this?"

The smiles on the adults' faces faded, and they looked at each other.

"What do you mean, Erik?" the doctor asked. "It's a birthday party."

"Oh," I said shortly, nodding my head. I had read about birthday parties, especially in the children's books I had started off reading.

"Erik," Nurse Williams placed her hand on my arm, and I looked at her, "haven't you ever had a birthday party before?"

I shook my head. "Of course not," I responded bitterly. "Do you actually think my father would have allowed that? Can you really imagine him celebrating my birth?"

She cringed slightly at the venom in my questions, and she looked at the doctor as if asking for help. He saw the look and came to me, quickly enveloping me in a hug.

"He may not have, Erik, but we certainly do," he said softly, and, despite my attempt to retain my aloofness, I felt myself responding to his kindness. I refused to let myself cry, even in happiness or relief, but I did allow my head to drop against his shoulder, and I returned his hug.

"Thank you," I whispered sincerely, and he hugged me even tighter. When he finally released me, I looked up and saw a bright smile on his face. Tears glistened in his eyes, though, and I felt shame at the thought that I had let myself treat him poorly.

"You are more than welcome, Erik," he answered, and then he gestured to one of the kitchen chairs. "Sit; we have some things for you."

I did as he asked, and then Nurse Williams handed one of the presents to me. I took it and looked up at her.

"This is from me, Erik; I hope you like it," she said with a smile.

I looked at the package in front of me and gently turned it over in my hands. I found where the paper was taped to itself and pried it apart, careful not to rip the paper. I repeated this process with each piece of tape, and when I removed the paper, I saw a small leather case. I opened the case, and inside were various grooming items – a comb, a clothes brush, a small mirror, a razor, and three metal containers. I opened the containers and found soap, shaving cream, and aftershave. I didn't need the shaving items yet, but I knew I would someday. I smiled brightly for the first time since my face was revealed to me, and I looked up.

"Thank you, Nurse Williams," I said, amazed that she would spend money to get this for me.

"You are welcome, Erik," she replied, an answering smile on her face.

Doctor Clark took the second, larger package from the table and held it out to me. I zipped the case closed, placed it on the table, and reached for the present. I took the same care in opening it, and found a large wooden box. It was a cube, about two feet on each side, and it had a handle on the top with sturdy metal clasps holding it closed. I set it on my lap and opened the clasps before slowly lifting the lid. My eyes grew wide, and I took a long, deep breath at the sight before my eyes. In a tray just below the lid were lined dozens of tubes of paint, various sizes of paintbrushes, sketching pencils, erasers, and other art supplies. Strapped to the lid were an oval-shaped palette and a good number of drawing pads. I saw that there were handles on the tray, and I lifted it out of the box to find the bottom of the box filled with small canvases. I let my fingers trail reverently over the smooth wood of the box and then over the items inside.

I don't know how long I sat there, mesmerized by the image before me, but I started when I heard Doctor Clark chuckle. I looked up at him, my mouth agape, and he knelt down by my chair.

"Can I assume you like it, Erik?" he questioned, a laugh just behind his words.

Unable to speak, I simply nodded, and although I felt tears forming in my eyes, I had no desire to stop them. I was awed that the doctor had thought of such a present for me, and I was overwhelmed. I turned slightly and threw my arms around his neck and laid my head on his shoulder, allowing the tears to trickle down my cheeks and disappear into his shirt. He wrapped his arms around me and held me tightly. We sat there for a long time until I was again in control of myself, and I sat back. I realized that the doctor's kindness and thoughtfulness had found a way behind the wall I had built around myself, and it surprised me to find that I was eager and willing to let him in.

"Thank you, Doctor Clark," I said quietly. I gave him another hug. "Thank you."

He chuckled again and responded just as quietly, "You're welcome, my boy. I am glad you like it."

The pleased tone of his voice made me feel guilty for having kept him at arm's length for so long, but when I looked at him, his smile reassured me that everything was all right between us, which pleased me more than I expected.

He stood up and went to the kitchen cupboard before coming back with a box of matches. I closed the box and set it on the floor as he lit the candles on the cake. He scooted it up to me and said, "Now, before you blow out the candles, you must make a wish."

There was no hesitation when I closed my eyes and spoke, for there was only one thing that I wished for. "I wish I knew what happened to my mother," I said quietly, and then I opened my eyes and gently blew until all of the flames were extinguished.

My words had caused the others' eyes to fill with tears, but they did not fall. Doctor Clark instead cleared his throat and reached into a drawer and pulled out a knife before cutting three slices off of the cake. Nurse Williams wiped her eyes before she moved to the refrigerator and got some ice cream out of the freezer section, which she added to the cake the doctor had put on the plates. The pall that had fallen over the festivities with my wish slowly dissipated, and we spent the next fifteen minutes or so seated around the table, eating the sweets in companionable silence.

When we were finished, Nurse Williams stood up and put her plate and fork in the sink. "Well, Doctor, Erik, I should be going; it's getting late."

We both stood up and I stepped up to her. "Thank you again for the present," I said, and I didn't resist when she reached out and gave me a quick hug.

"I hope you get some good use out of it," she answered, and with a final pat on my unblemished cheek, she left the kitchen, and I heard the front door click shut behind her.

During this time, the doctor had cleared the table and placed the remaining cake in the refrigerator. When I turned to look at him, he was placing sandwich fixings on the counter.

"Sandwiches?" I queried. "Aren't those for lunches?"

He chuckled once again – it was a good sound, I decided – and said, "Well, I'm too tired to cook, and since it's your birthday, I figured we could just take it easy tonight."

I smiled and joined him at the counter. As we made our sandwiches, I knew that this was one birthday I would never forget.


End file.
